At The End of The World
by JWood201
Summary: With a military test missile headed straight for the island, the castaways set out to accomplish some of their life goals. During Season 1's "X Marks The Spot."
1. Death and Taxes

_During Season 1's "X Marks the Spot."_

_This story will eventually have 9 or 10 parts and the ending isn't complete, but I was having a questionable day and I need some feedback. :) This story will have some comedy and sweet moments within the framework of this serious story, much like the original episode. __The prologue attempts to set up where everyone is mentally in this story (the real "story" starts in part 2). I wanted to explore how this vastly different group of people would feel, act, and respond in the face of this type of crisis. _

_Special thanks to Teobi who has to listen to my whining and for helping me not lose momentum on this story. (And don't be surprised if I edit this chapter at some point along the way, haha)._

**At The End of the World**

_I'm going to die_.

_It's a universal truth. Everyone can say this with certainty._

_Death and taxes._

_But it's another thing entirely to know its coming and to be expected to wait patiently and go about your business until it's ready to dive from the sky and claim you..._

Gilligan was going about his business of tidying up his hut. He wanted everything to be nice and neat when it got blown up. At least that's what he told Mary Ann, tossing off the joke with his usual quick wit and guileless smile, but she didn't look impressed this time.

Actually, he was trying to distract himself. When he was in need of a distraction, sometimes he went fishing or went for a walk, but sometimes he cleaned. When he was a boy, he had a tough time in school. He would come home and refuse to tell his mother about it, so she'd hand him a broom or a rag and put him to work. Eventually he'd get out his frustrations on whatever he was polishing or the monotonous rhythm of sweeping would push the story from his lips and his mother would nod in understanding.

All he wanted was a nice, calm childhood with no bullies and no stupid girls, where he and his best buddy Skinny Mulligan could chase butterflies and climb trees. What he got was a stint in the Navy, a medal for saving the Skipper's life, and a shipwreck on a tropical island where he could chase butterflies and climb trees.

All the Skipper wanted was a nice, calm business where he could spend his days sailing and meet new people and show them the wonders of Hawaii. What he got was an incorrect weather report and an island full of the motliest group of people he'd ever seen in one place.

He paced restlessly, wearing a path in the sand by the table. He was still the captain and this motley group of people still looked up to him. It was his job, not only as a business owner, but as a Navy Officer and a man, to keep them safe and return them to port after three hours.

But he couldn't. And he was mad as hell about it.

He paced by the table again, where two coconut crème pies waited for him. Mary Ann brought them to him a few minutes ago and told him that she thought she hadn't been as nice to him as she could have. Naturally, he disagreed with her. Then she asked in her smallest voice and with the biggest brown eyes ever if he was absolutely sure there was nothing they could do about the test missile and he felt like the biggest failure on the planet.

But at the moment he wasn't wallowing in self-pity or sadness or even guilt. He was mad. The Skipper always had a plan. He got himself out of some tight spots in the war with some pretty inventive schemes. He wasn't going to get depressed. The radio was never going to leave his side. He was going to listen to the news and follow the course of events and think and plot and devise and he was going to save them or he was going to die trying.

Thurston Howell III wanted to take it with him. His wife knew it was impossible, but humored him as he stalked around the hut, desperately hiding cash in his jacket and then pulling it out again, ultimately knowing how pointless it was. He wrote will after will, trying to get the distribution of funds just right. As soon as they tossed a champagne bottle with the rolled up document into the lagoon, a new idea struck him and they'd have to start again. This went on all afternoon until they ran out of empty champagne bottles.

It would make things a whole lot easier if they had children to leave their fortune to. They could let them worry about it. But that was not the case and so they had to distribute their wealth elsewhere. Since the shipwreck, Mr. Howell had suspected that his brothers and older nephews were at home bickering over his assets and hoped that someone would find the most up-to-date will washed ashore somewhere and set things right.

Mrs. Howell suggested he leave a sizeable sum to help needy children and her husband readily agreed, knowing that this charitable endeavor was closest to her heart. Mrs. Howell spent many afternoons visiting the orphanages she helped fund. She didn't have to go, they were grateful for the monetary donations, but she loved seeing the children. The little girls always wanted to wear her hats and the little boys always stood up straighter when she arrived and took her hand and proudly showed her the pictures they had drawn that week.

Every time she visited, she contemplated adopting. The problem was that she couldn't choose just one or two or three. She wanted them all.

At the moment, however, Mrs. Howell was grateful that she had never chosen one or two or three. There's nothing worse for a former orphan than to become an orphan again.

At home she had many nieces and nephews, whom she loved dearly even if she did get them all mixed up. They found her incredibly entertaining and at every family function she'd inevitably find herself dispensing some important life lesson wrapped up in a confusing story while surrounded by a circle of giggling children.

On the island she had Gilligan and Mary Ann, whom she loved dearly even if she did get a great deal of enjoyment out of teasing them. They found her incredibly compassionate and sought comfort in her slightly batty, yet always wise, advice.

She even had a slight maternal instinct toward Ginger – when the gorgeous redhead wasn't sitting too close to her husband. Ginger came to her on days when she was feeling less like a famous movie star and more like a confused little girl who wasn't quite she how she ended up where she was. They'd play cards and talk about nothing in particular, but they'd both get up feeling better than when they sat down.

The young woman should have become a nurse. Her mother told her that. Her sister told her that. A director even once told her that. And now she was telling herself that.

But instead she became Ginger Grant and became a movie star. A gown-wearing, hunk-dating, red carpet-walking movie star who didn't have time or permission to stray from the studio's course and do anything for herself or anyone else.

She wanted to troll the boards on Broadway and sink her teeth into a monologue where she could pull the passion from the depths of her soul and sob and scream and reduce the audience to stunned silence before they leapt to their feet in a thunderous standing ovation eight times a week. She wanted to play Lady Macbeth and Blanche DuBois and Cleopatra.

_She was supposed to play Cleopatra_.

She wanted to be an artist, to move people, to make them laugh and cry and think and reevaluate their entire existence with the tone of her voice or a single gesture.

Instead she got top billing in _The Hula Girl and the Fullback_.

She wanted to be an artist, but she should have become a nurse. She should have done something important with her life. She should have helped people.

The Professor racked his brain, sheet after sheet of equations strewn across the table, the bench, and the ground. He was rusty after so many years of teaching the same curriculum over and over. He should have continued with his research. It would have kept him sharp and kept his brain moving in new and innovative directions. It would have helped people.

Currently, he was trying to pinpoint the exact location of their island in comparison to the approximate latitude and longitude of the target given on the radio. If he could calculate the trajectory of the missile from the base and take into account the thrust of the rockets and any passing storms, he might be able to figure out if the missile will hit the island or not.

But then what?

Even if the missile exploded in the water, it would create a wave that could travel for miles. Either way, they were in trouble. It was almost better that the missile hit the island dead on. It would be quick and painless. Hopefully.

The Professor was not outwardly emotional. While he knew exactly how each of the other castaways was feeling just by looking at their face, he was able to keep his stoic façade. After years of dealing with high school students, he had learned to perfect his poker face and he felt obligated to maintain the same control here for the sake of the others.

He gave the others the facts, flat out, with all the gory details. But when they asked him specific questions, he answered with overly scientific explanations that he knew they wouldn't understand, some of which didn't even pertain to the situation at hand because, really, he had no answers to those questions. There was nothing to say. They couldn't run. They couldn't hide. They just had to wait.

Mary Ann survived a lot of things in her short twenty years on earth. She was thrown from a horse when she was four years old. She watched a tornado surge down the road in front of her Aunt Martha's house, sucking up their mailbox as it passed. Another cyclone took out the post office in town, but left the store beside it untouched. It rained letters and catalogues for a three mile radius.

When she was nine, she alone walked away from a horrific car accident with a single superficial scratch. Caught at sea in a violent thunderstorm. Shipwrecked. Life on a deserted island. Cannibals.

Mary Ann had begun to think that the world was trying to get rid of her and that she kept obliviously slipping away at the last moment, stepping off the bull's-eye right before the anvil fell. Or that the world was trying to save her from a series of unfortunate coincidences or bad luck.

She secretly hoped that some freak event or miscalculation would spare her again and continue her track record of tempting the fates and then outsmarting their shears. But she was a sitting duck this time, they all were, waiting for the sky to ignite and swallow them up.

At least she'd get to see her parents again.

Mary Ann reached her destination and shook her head clear. She blinked a few times and took a deep calming breath. She shifted the pie plate to balance on one palm so she could push open the bamboo door and enter the hut...


	2. The Bucket List

By the time Mary Ann returned with the second coconut crème pie, Gilligan had singlehandedly polished off the first one. She watched from the doorway as he licked his sticky fingers, considered the empty pie plate for a moment, and then dove in to lick up the tiny crumbs that were too little for his fork to pick up.

Gilligan heard Mary Ann laugh behind him and shot up straight in his chair, pushing the plate away and glancing around innocently.

Mary Ann shook her head and entered the hut as he continued casually surveying the room as if he'd never seen it before. "Here's the second pie I promised you."

"Oh, boy!" Gilligan's eyes lit up and he forgot that he was trying to act inconspicuous. "Thanks, Mary Ann. You're the best."

Mary Ann sighed. "I just wish I could do something more for you. Pie seems so impersonal."

The instant the pie was on the table, Gilligan tucked in and practically drowned himself in it. After a moment he looked up and shook his head. "It's perfect," he mumbled around a mouthful of crust and dropped back to the plate again.

Astonished, Mary Ann stared at the top of his head. "I don't know where you put it."

His garbled response sounded faintly like, "Put what?"

"All the pie you eat. You're going to get another stomachache."

Gilligan shrugged. "Your pie is the best pie in the whole world. Even better than Pumpkin Patty's. That wasn't her real name. She worked at the diner in my hometown in Pennsylvania. All she did was make the pies, all day every day. Apple, peach, lemon meringue, rhubarb. She even won an award for her pumpkin pie. That's how she got her nickname. People came from all over for her pie. Even other states. She was the best pie maker I ever met until I met you."

He hadn't stopped eating during this story. In fact, it almost seemed like he was speeding up, shoveling a forkful into his mouth after every other word.

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann exclaimed, eyes wide and completely missing his compliment. "Slow down! It's not like this is your last meal!"

Gilligan froze and looked up at her, fork hovering halfway to his mouth. Mary Ann gasped and dropped her gaze apologetically to the table.

They had almost succeeded in forgetting about their fate.

The Professor had explained it very bluntly and concisely before peeling the petrified movie star from his arm and marching stoically to his hut.

The whistle and roar of the approaching rocket. A crash. A flash of light. And then nothing.

Mary Ann studied the grain of the driftwood planks in the table until a perfectly cut piece of coconut crème pie on a wooden plate slid into her line of vision. She glanced up at Gilligan. He had cut her a slice from the side he hadn't demolished yet and was now sitting quietly, staring blankly into the pie plate.

"Thanks."

Gilligan waited like a perfect gentleman for her to sit down at the table beside him before picking up his fork again. He distractedly pushed a piece of pie crust around the plate.

"Gilligan? Are you scared?"

It was barely a whisper, but it momentarily knocked the wind out of him.

Gilligan knew she wanted him to say "no," so he straightened his shoulders and arranged his face into its most confident expression. "Nope." But he deflated as soon as he saw her, brown eyes wider than he'd ever seen them before. "Yes." Gilligan sighed and turned away again.

"Imagine surviving the storm and the shipwreck and that Japanese sailor only to be done in by a missile programmed to head straight for this tiny island." Mary Ann actually laughed a little. "What are the odds?"

Gilligan's lips twitched in a small smile. "Yeah. We have all the luck, don't we?"

"There are so many things I wanted to do. But I guess I have to forget about them now."

Gilligan's attention was piqued and he pushed his hat back on his head. "Like what?" He pulled his feet up onto the chair in front of him and leaned forward to listen.

But Mary Ann just shrugged. "It doesn't matter now. I can't do any of them."

"You might." Gilligan gave her the eager innocent smile that he recently learned could get her to agree to accompany him on almost any Gilligan adventure. "Tell me."

"Well. Like ..." Mary Ann blushed a little before taking a deep breath and plowing ahead. "Like get married and experience true love and have a baby."

Mortified, Mary Ann stared down at the table. Gilligan tilted his head, smiled thoughtfully. "You'd be a good mom." Mary Ann lowered her eyes to her hands clasped in her lap. "But we probably won't have time for that. What else?"

Mary Ann was quiet for a moment. "I want to witness a miracle."

"What else?" he whispered, spellbound.

"Anything in the world?" she asked and he nodded. "I want to fly."

Gilligan grinned. "What else?"

Mary Ann smirked mischievously. "Hold hands with a boy." She was trying to tease him for being so nosey and she expected to hear him laugh nervously and then abruptly change the subject. But he was quiet and when Mary Ann glanced up, he had his arm stretched out across the table, palm up, and was giving her his most endearing smile. "Gilligan, be serious," she replied, frowning a little. "It can't be random. It has to mean something."

Gilligan's fingers twitched and he withdrew his arm, wrapping it around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. "What else?"

"What about you?" Mary Ann countered a little indignantly. "Don't you have a list?"

"Yeah, but its goofy stuff. I like yours better."

"And I like your goofy stuff." Mary Ann leaned forward on the table and cradled her chin in her palm. "Tell me one."

Gilligan shifted in his chair. "Okay. Don't make fun of me." The sailor turned a pale shade of red and stifled a giggle in his knees. "I want to tame a lion." He hid his whole face in his jeans and Mary Ann burst out laughing. Gilligan's blue eyes appeared over his bent knees and glared at her.

"Don't give me that look." Mary Ann reached out and swatted his legs before crossing her arms on the table and laying her head down on her forearm. She made herself comfortable and grinned up at him. "I like it. What else?"

For the briefest moment, it looked like he was going to tell her something important, but at the last second he grinned. "I want to go on a safari."

"You do that every day!"

"Not with the machetes and the guys who sit on the front of the Jeep with guns just in case the hippos charge and the funny hats like Mr. Howell wears."

"He might let you borrow his."

"Nah. He'd make me pay rent on it." Gilligan's face suddenly lit up with realization. "Hey, since we started talking about all these things we want to do, we haven't once thought about how we're gonna die!"

Mary Ann frowned. "Oh, Gilligan!"

"I'm sorry." Gilligan rested his chin on his knees again.

On the table, Mary Ann closed her eyes. He watched as her thoughts played themselves out on her face, eyes darting beneath their lids, brow furrowing slightly. She squeezed her eyes closed even tighter and turned so her forehead rested on her forearms, brown hair falling to obscure her face.

"Mary Ann?" he finally whispered. "What if we try to do all these things?"

She raised her head and opened her eyes, which sparkled with moisture. "On the island?"

"Sure. If we're busy maybe we won't think about what's gonna happen. I know I can't think about two things at once." Mary Ann frowned disbelievingly. "Come on, Mary Ann, it might even be fun. What else is on your list?"

"Well ... I did always want to see the most beautiful place on earth."

"Where's that?"

"I'm not sure," she answered truthfully. After a second, she looked up and smiled. "It might be here."

Gilligan grinned in triumph. "See, there's one thing to cross off already."

# # # #

That night, Gilligan and Mary Ann sat outside at the communal table, each hovering over a piece of paper. Gilligan shielded his with his arm like he was forced to do in grammar school when Skinny Mulligan would try to cheat off of his math tests, which is probably why they both always flunked. He inched away each time Mary Ann tried to take a peek, even sliding off the bench and onto the ground once.

Tiki torches surrounded camp like crackling, glowing sentries, vainly guarding those whose fates were already determined. A lantern sat in the center of the table, providing a warm pool of light just big enough to write by.

At dinner they told the others about their idea and were met with absolute silence. A fresco of frozen expressions stared at them across the table – confusion, disbelief, patronization.

Finally, Lovey Howell waved them away, muttering something about "the children," and her husband blustered incoherently, stomping off to his hut to resume editing his new will. The Skipper hadn't heard them at all, still hovering over the radio trying to hear the news at "dinner volume" – a rule the women had insisted upon after one too many meals was interrupted by Mr. Howell having a tantrum after a bad stock market report or the Skipper loudly assistant coaching a football game taking place thousands of miles away.

The Professor regarded them strangely for a moment and then shook his head and went back to scribbling on a piece of paper beside his napkin. Ginger actually looked supportive at first, but her smile quickly turned sad and she lowered her eyes to her plate.

The rest of the meal passed in silence.

Gilligan's face was an inch from the paper as he scratched his final thought onto the end of his list. He peeked out from under the brim of his hat and saw that Mary Ann was already finished, her paper neatly folded on the table with her hands neatly folded on top.

"Are you ready?"

"Uh huh."

"You go first."

"No, you go first."

They eyed each other stubbornly until Mary Ann's eyes lit up with an idea. "Why don't we switch papers?" Mary Ann grinned and handed him her list without waiting for him to agree. She took hold of his paper, but he held fast to the other side. "Gilligan," she giggled, "let go."

He relented and she eagerly took the list, eyes raking over the page. She smiled as she read, each item scrawled in his messy handwriting more endearing than the last.

_Go on a safari_.

Mary Ann knew that Gilligan was sometimes embarrassed and thought that his ideas and interests were goofy or childish, especially since the other men on the island always flat-out told him so. To the other men, his ideas were usually ridiculous or harebrained or a waste of time. But to Mary Ann, they were adventures, the interests of someone with a pure heart and a free soul.

But as she read, Mary Ann grew concerned about her own list. She hadn't taken the practical approach to this like Gilligan. She listed hopes and dreams that would be impossible for him to fulfill. Aside from the already confessed true love, which she hadn't even bothered to write down, her list was much more abstract and intangible and downright unattainable. Things that people would do if they could do anything in the world, if laws and physics and gravity didn't exist.

_Witness a miracle_.

What does that even mean? What constitutes a miracle?

What if Gilligan's idea of a miracle is the Skipper not finishing his dinner and he expected her to be satisfied with that?

Mary Ann couldn't stay frowning for long as she continued reading. Gilligan's list was filled with simple pleasures. It read more like a list of things that he just hadn't gotten around to doing yet, not a list of someone's greatest dreams.

_Go camping._

But these were _his_ greatest dreams.

They were all attainable and, better yet, she could make them happen.

Gilligan could never make her greatest dreams come true. No one could.

Mary Ann sighed and continued reading, her brow furrowing thoughtfully as she reached the bottom of the page. He had saved his more serious thoughts for last.

As serious as Gilligan could get, anyway.

"Gilligan? Who's –?" But he was gone when she looked up. Mary Ann twisted around on the bench just in time to see him reach the hut, almost crash into the doorframe as he walked and read her list at the same time, and disappear inside.

Mary Ann carefully folded his list and slid it into the back pocket of her shorts. She blew out the lantern and headed to bed, resigned to the fact that she would get to accomplish nothing on her list, but satisfied with knowing that she could help Gilligan accomplish everything on his. _Almost_ everything – until she figured out what the last item meant.

She sighed again. What was she thinking?

_Fly_.

Ridiculous.


	3. Fly

_I may or may not have stolen the name of the restaurant/bar in Honolulu from one of callensensei's stories, but I'm not positive. If so, thanks! :) It's stuck in my head as if it's a real place and I think there's an adorable sense of community in using fandom-canon._

* * *

><p>"Gilli<em>gan<em>! Where are we _going_?"

She was starting to whine and Gilligan knew that he had approximately ten more minutes before Mary Ann got really cranky and demanded that they head back to camp. He grinned. "Be patient. We're almost there."

But her patience was wearing thin. Her back hurt. Her feet hurt. And she had gotten almost no sleep whatsoever the night before.

She had lain awake for hours trying to decipher Gilligan's last list item. When she finally fell asleep she dreamt of test missiles and explosions and fiery death.

Mary Ann was jarred awake well before sunrise by someone trying really hard to quietly knock on the bamboo post outside the girls' section of the communal hut they still shared. Ginger groaned and pressed her pillow over her face. "It's for you," the movie star decided, voice muffled.

"How do you know?"

"Mary Ann!" It was supposed to be a whisper, but it still made her jump. The knocking stopped for a minute and Ginger grunted an 'I told you so' through the pillow. "_Psssst! Mary __Ann__!_ I don't wanna wake up Ginger!"

The movie star groaned again, more dramatically, and a long fair arm emerged from its orange blanket and pointed in the general direction of the voice.

Mary Ann finally hauled herself up and shuffled to the window. She leaned on the sill and peered at her visitor through a curtain of brunette waves. "What are you doing here?"

Mary Ann stifled a yawn in her sleeve, but Gilligan was grinning at her in the gray pre-dawn light, wide awake and ready to go. "Get dressed. We're starting on our lists." Mary Ann saw him shove her list back into his pocket. He straightened his hat and watched her expectantly. When she didn't move, he propelled his arms through the air, trying to increase the sense of urgency he was obviously failing to create. "Come on!"

"Gilligan, I never even got up this early on the farm. The roosters are still asleep. Plus I barely slept last night. Come back in two hours."

"We gotta get going now or we'll never make it there in time. Wear sneakers. And pants." Mary Ann cocked her head inquisitively and Gilligan's eyes widened. "I mean instead of a dress."

"Okay. It'll take me two hours to put on pants. Goodnight." She started to retreat into the hut, but the first mate grabbed her sleeve and pulled her back to the window.

"Mary Ann! Carp the diem!"

Mary Ann pushed her hair out of her face. "What?"

"Seize the day!" Gilligan translated. "The Professor said it once. I think it's French." He shrugged broadly, but then suddenly turned serious. "Mary Ann, the missile's coming and we need to make the most of the time we have. I want to do something on your list. Now go put on pants."

Mary Ann froze, staring at him. His usually joyful, sparkling blue eyes were determined and pinned her down, daring her not to go with him. She glanced down at his hand, still gripping her arm, back up at his face, and nodded. "Okay."

But she was less moved by his determination now that they were well into their second hour of hiking deep into the island's dense jungle. The castaways never ventured this far into the interior of the island, except Gilligan, who had a habit of disappearing for hours on end and coming back just in time for dinner wearing a satisfied, sleepy smile, signifying that a good day's work of exploring had been completed.

Mary Ann followed him up a steep hill covered in dense vegetation. Gilligan knew exactly where he was going and kept checking his watch like they were actually going to be late for something important. The sky became lighter and the air warmer as they climbed, the early morning dew gluing leaves and blades of grass to the bottom of their shoes.

Gilligan stopped suddenly as the ground leveled out into a small ledge and Mary Ann crashed into his back. "Gilligan! Are we there?" She looked around, seeing nothing too extraordinary, although the island on its most ordinary day was pretty extraordinary.

"No. But watch this." Gilligan turned her by the shoulders until she was looking out to the horizon through a break in the canopy.

"What are you – ?" Her question caught in her throat and she gasped instead. The instant he pointed her in the right direction, a giant orange sun began rising over the horizon. It shimmered and wavered on the water and grew until it was a perfect half circle and then a full orb. Mary Ann squinted against its brilliance and the air instantly warmed up ten degrees.

"Right on time," Gilligan observed, glancing at his watch again.

"Is this what you wanted to show me?"

"Nope. Just a bonus. Your list thing is better."

Mary Ann heard rustling behind her and turned to find him hanging out of the foliage, well off the trail. He stood on top of an immense fallen tree, barely visible through the leaves. Gilligan hung onto a branch with one hand, leaning back toward her. "It's not much farther." He stuck his other arm out to her. "Come on."

Mary Ann eyed his outstretched hand and sighed. She grabbed his arm instead, letting him pull her up beside him and then give her a push in the right direction up the hill.

Ten minutes later, Gilligan was in front of her again, blazing a trail. Mary Ann did her best to keep up with him and every so often he would remember that she was following him and would slow down until he got excited and forged ahead again.

Mary Ann followed him up another steep incline, grabbing hanging branches to help pull herself along. "Gilligan?" she called, a little breathless. "Who's A.M.?" He didn't reply, but he stumbled a bit and pretended he hadn't heard her, pointing out a funny looking monkey swinging from a nearby tree instead. "I can't help you with your list if I don't know what it means," she mumbled as the ground leveled out and they entered a bamboo field.

The stalks soared toward the heavens, growing faster than the castaways could harvest them for building material. Mary Ann held her arm out, running her hand across the smooth bark as she passed. Every so often, she'd grab one of the poles and spin around it. The bamboo towered over them, the few leaves at the top rustling in the breeze and forming a light canopy, letting the sunshine trickle in to dot the ground. It reminded her of the hours she'd spend wandering aimlessly through the cornfields when she was little as the stalks waved well above her head.

Mary Ann suddenly realized that Gilligan was still trudging forward steadily, a man on a mission, and she had let him get a good distance ahead of her. Mary Ann broke into a trot and fell into step beside him. His mouth was set in a pensive line, so she grinned and reached out to poke him in the ribs. He yelped and shot her an over-exaggerated glare, but she had her hands clasped innocently behind her back and was staring straight ahead.

"What do you think everyone else would put on their lists?" she asked. "I think the Professor would want to find a cure for some awful disease. And Ginger would probably want to win an Academy Award."

"Skipper would want to win the burger eating contest at Barnacle Bill's in Honolulu."

Mary Ann burst out laughing. "Gilligan, be serious!"

"He would! They call it the Belly Buster. They serve this giant burger on a trash can lid. You have to eat a pound of fries, too."

"What do you win?"

"Nothin'. But if you finish it in half an hour, it's free. And they put your picture up on the wall and everything. Most of the guys look like this in their pictures." Gilligan stopped walking and leaned to one side, mouth hanging open and eyes half-closed, the perfect illustration of a serious food coma.

"And that's what the Skipper would want to do?"

Gilligan nodded solemnly. "It's a very big honor. He almost beat it once, but I leaned on the edge of the lid and flipped the whole thing up into his face." Gilligan shuffled his feet in the dry leaves embarrassedly, but Mary Ann saw him trying to suppress a smile.

"What about the Howells?" she asked as they continued walking.

Gilligan suddenly stood up straighter and Mary Ann knew what was coming next. "Lovey, take note!" he bellowed in his infamous Mr. Howell impression.

Mary Ann quickly fell into her usual role. "Yes, Thurston!" she trilled.

They had somehow gotten over their initial horror at using the millionaires' first names, but only when they were sure the Howells were well out of earshot and they were, of course, used only in the most loving manner. The first time the names flew unexpectedly from their lips, they froze, eyes wide and hands clamped over their mouths. They listened, waiting for Mr. Howell to appear from nowhere and bray incessantly about respect from the younger generation and for his wife to eventually show up at his side to gently give them a lesson in decorum.

Gilligan puffed out his chest and changed his gait to a pompous stride. "It is my greatest hope, wish, and dream to be the richest man in the whole entire world!" he continued. "Nay, the universe! Nay again! The _galaxy_!" Mary Ann giggled, but swatted him on the arm and Gilligan returned to his normal self and shrugged. "They have so much money they've probably already done all the things they want to do."

"I don't know." She sighed. "There's probably something else. There are a lot of things that money can't buy. Like the things on our lists."

"Does that mean I'll get my motorcycle and crash helmet for free?"

"Well, everything _else_ on our lists." Mary Ann frowned. "Gilligan?" she called as she paused on a rocky ledge over a small stream. The first mate had hopped down ahead of her and from his new lower vantage point suddenly realized how high the ledge really was. "I don't think I did my list right."

"Sure, you did." Gilligan stood eyelevel with her shins and sized up the situation. "It's perfect."

"No, it's not. It's silly. We can't do any of my things."

"Yes, we can. Where do you think we're going?" He reached up and Mary Ann bent down to grab his shoulders.

"I have no idea." Gilligan took her around the waist and gently swung her from the rocky ledge. When she landed, completely dry, on the other side of the stream, she glanced up at him. He was grinning like a maniac and she frowned. "Gilligan, what are we doing?"

Gilligan let go of her waist and moved over to a curtain of vines and long willowy branches hanging from a nearby tree. He swept them aside, revealing the most spectacular vista Mary Ann had ever seen. Passing beneath that natural curtain was like going through the looking glass to Wonderland or into the wardrobe to enter Narnia.

Ancient trees loomed around them with thick ropelike vines hanging from every inch of their many branches. Immediately in front of them the ground gave way to a steep ravine. The narrow valley was filled with trees and plants and flowers of all kinds and colorful birds flew up from its depths, materializing from nowhere. The still rising sun shone through the canopy, illuminating the dewy mist suspended in the air.

Gilligan grabbed a thick vine from a nearby tree and tugged on it to check its strength. Then he turned to grin at Mary Ann.

"You're gonna fly."

# # # #

"Okay, now hold on right there. Hold on tight. And you'll put your feet on that big knot I tied in the vine. And then you just ... go. Are you ready?"

"Yes. No. No! No, I can't." Mary Ann pushed the vine into Gilligan's hands and backed away. She hit a tree and pressed her back into the trunk, gripping the rough bark and shaking her head at the first mate.

Gilligan sighed. It had taken him twenty minutes to get her to agree to even hold the vine. "Mary Ann, you said you wanted to fly, right?"

She gulped and nodded.

"Well, then fly!"

She shook her head.

"But you put it on your list!"

"Oh, Gilligan, everyone says they want to fly! That's because they know it'll never actually happen! It's like saying you want to read other people's minds. People aren't supposed to fly!"

"But _we can_!" he insisted, shaking the vine at her. "Do you want me to show you again?" Mary Ann nodded and he pulled his hat from his head and stuffed it into his back pocket.

Gilligan had already demonstrated three times and he was starting to get a little dizzy, but that didn't make it any less exhilarating. The first time he jumped from the ledge and swung exuberantly through the air, Mary Ann stood wringing his hat in her hands, yelling after him to be careful.

"Watch. It's easy." Gilligan put one foot up on the big knot at the bottom of the vine, pushed off the ground with the other and swung out over the ravine with no fear whatsoever. The wind whipped his hair and he whooped and hollered with delight, his voice echoing through the valley.

Mary Ann finally exhaled when Gilligan reached the other side and found his footing. "Are you okay?" she yelled across the ravine. He turned around to wave at her, preparing to make the return trip.

Halfway back he took one hand from the vine, holding his arm out like a red cotton-clad wing. Mary Ann watched as he drew nearer, eyes closed, mouth spread into a joyous grin, arm out to greet the world.

Gilligan landed in front of her, a little breathless. "Your turn."

Mary Ann pouted. "I don't know."

"I'll come with you."

Mary Ann eyed the vine up and down. "Will it hold us both?"

"You're not exactly the Skipper." Mary Ann frowned, but he was grinning cheekily and she smirked.

"Well. I – I don't –," she stuttered as she watched him tie another knot in the vine, higher up than the one he had stood on. "Gilligan, I think you're trying to get me killed before the missile does." She planted her hands on her hips, a little bit proud of her bravely wry humor in the face of death.

Gilligan stopped tugging on the vine. "Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, but his brow furrowed. "Gilligan, I –."

"You won't fall," he assured her sincerely, holding the vine out to her. "I promise."

Mary Ann did trust him implicitly, especially when they were out in nature or dealing with wild animals. He navigated the island expertly, was friends with every creature they encountered, and was his most graceful when he was out in the wilderness exploring. It was when he tried to function within the confines of expected behavior that he ran into problems. Mary Ann would never trust him to carry a full pot of boiling soup three feet to the table, but she trusted him with her life when they were out in the jungle, where he had room to move and climb and be free and fly.

Mary Ann hesitantly took the vine and approached the precipice. She put her left foot up on the higher knot and tightened her grip. Gilligan grasped the vine above her head and put his left foot on the lower knot. He reached around Mary Ann to grab the vine in front of her stomach until she was safely wedged between it and his body.

"One..."

"Wait!"

"What?"

"Don't count. I don't want to see it coming."

"Okay. I won't tell you when we're going."

"Good. Wait!"

"What?"

"Maybe I should be ready. If I'm not ready, I might not be holding on tight enough."

"Mary Ann, you're not gonna fall. I promise."

"I know. I trust you."

"Okay, here we go."

"Wait!"

"Mary Ann! You're starting to sound like me!"

"I'm sorry."

Gilligan repositioned his foot on the knot and licked his lips, concentrating very hard. He wiped his hands on his jeans so they wouldn't slip on the vine.

"Gilligan, are you alright?"

"Yeah. I've just never done this with a passenger before."

"Gilligan!"

"It's okay. Gladys took me for a ride once and we came back in one piece."

Gilligan took hold of the vine in front of her again, encircling her waist tighter than before. He cleared his throat and repositioned his foot once more. Mary Ann could feel his heart beating against her left shoulder blade and it was picking up speed. He took a deep breath, lungs expanding against her back.

"Gilligan, you seem nervous."

"I'm fine. One..."

Gilligan flexed his fingers around the vine, finding the perfect grip.

"Two..."

Mary Ann took a deep breath and unconsciously pressed back against him. Maybe if they were one, she would absorb some of his courage.

"Three!"

Before Mary Ann could even process his shout and push off of the ground, they were airborne. Her mind raced incoherently, but she somehow managed to shove her foot onto the knot and grip the vine between her knees. They hung suspended in midair for a split second before swinging down into the ravine. Their feet skimmed the leaves topping the trees rising up from the bottom of the valley. A blur of green surrounded them on both sides as trees rushed past at an extraordinary speed. Mary Ann squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, her arms wrapped tightly around the vine and her cheek pressed against its rough rope.

She felt the wind whip through her hair, the rush of it past her face filling her nostrils with the heady aroma of tropical flowers and plants. It was exhilarating and terrifying and freeing and horrible all at once. She felt weightless, like she was floating, suspended in space, but was also acutely aware of how snug and safe she felt, folded up in his arms. Time stretched out before them. Even though the whole trip across the ravine took only seconds, time stopped and, for what felt like an eternity, she and Gilligan were the only two people on earth, hovering as one in the beginning of their journey, which was also ironically close to the end.

"We made it." A voice penetrated her thoughts. "Mary Ann?" She pried one eye open. Gilligan was peering at her closely, worry etched on his brow. She didn't remember arriving at the other side or putting her feet down, but she was safely moored on the opposite shore, still gripping the vine tightly. She finally exhaled. "Are you okay?"

Mary Ann nodded until she could find her voice. When she did, it was just barely. "That was ... it was ..."

"Fun?" he asked. Mary Ann nodded again and he grinned. "Good. 'Cause now we get to do it again."

"Again?"

"Sure. How else are we gonna get back?" Gilligan gently turned her around and got into position until she was securely cocooned in his arms again, lodged between him and the vine. "I want you to let go this time."

Mary Ann wanted to turn around to gape at him incredulously or wriggle away, but he had her too tightly – which she was grateful for mid-flight, but not now when she wanted to escape. "_What_?"

Mary Ann felt the arm around her waist tighten. "Let go."

"No!"

As he pushed off of the ground and they hovered in midair for a moment, Gilligan bent his head and whispered in her ear with such conviction and passion that as they swung into the valley, she had to obey, had to reach out and embrace life, and so she spread her arms wide.

"_Fly__._"


	4. Go On A Safari

_This chapter includes some intense parody of old school __Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom__. Most specifically the fact that the host Marlin Perkins has no emotion in his voice whatsoever and that poor Jim is always almost dying. The show premiered in 1963 and was educational, yet unintentionally hilarious. (Also, Marlin discusses the different animals with a chimp named W.K., haha!)_

* * *

><p>When their flight was over and Gilligan and Mary Ann landed safely, Mary Ann fell to her knees in the soft grass of the ravine's edge, breathless and tingling with excitement. "Oh, Gilligan, that was amazing! I've never felt so alive! You're wonderful!" she babbled, laughing hysterically, her eyes sparkling. "That was the most dangerous thing we've ever done, but it was fantastic!"<p>

Gilligan knelt down in the grass before her. "Do you want to go again?"

"No!" she laughed, shaking her head, and flung her arms around his neck. Gilligan let go of the vine and it floated out over the valley by itself. "I don't know how I let you talk me into these things. I should've learned my lesson by now."

Mary Ann pulled back and took his face in her hands. Coils of hair had escaped from their pigtails and one of her bows hung untied. Her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing heavily, still unable to quell her laughter. Mary Ann brushed his hair out of his eyes and for a moment Gilligan was scared that she was going to kiss him, as she was inclined to do when she got overly excited. But instead she released him and got carefully to her feet and dusted off her jeans.

"You're lucky we're on this island, Mary Ann," Gilligan commented as they headed back toward camp.

"Why?" she asked, even though she agreed with him - test missile notwithstanding.

"If we were back in the states and you said you wanted to fly, I'd have taken you skydiving." Gilligan grinned mischievously as Mary Ann slowed to a stop, wide-eyed, and he ambled down the hill ahead of her.

"No, you wouldn't!" Mary Ann insisted and ran after him. She jumped him from behind and he hoisted her up onto his back. "I'd never let you talk me into that," she maintained, wrapping her arms around his neck and pouting down at the top of his hat.

"Sure, you would." Gilligan broke into a gallop, causing Mary Ann to shriek and nearly strangle him.

As they raced down the hill, Mary Ann closed her eyes and felt the wind whip her hair out behind her. She leaned forward a little to balance herself and then carefully untangled her arms from around Gilligan's neck. She stretched them out beside her, the wind pushing against her palms and breezing through her fingers. She turned her hands, experimenting with resistance and drag.

She glided along for a few glorious moments until Gilligan tripped, sending Mary Ann sailing over his shoulder and both of them tumbling to the ground. They rolled to a stop further down the hill and Mary Ann lay staring up into the vivid blue sky until Gilligan's face appeared above her, blocking out the sun.

"Are you okay?" he asked. She nodded and he smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Gilligan, look at the sky." He plopped down beside her and did as she asked. "It's so clear and beautiful. You wouldn't think that in a matter of days a big missile will come out of it and destroy everything."

"The Professor says that we have no way of knowing for sure when it's coming unless they announce it. It could be hours."

"Gilligan!" Mary Ann sighed and rolled over, propping herself up on her elbows and peering down at him. "We're doing something on your list this afternoon."

The first mate looked thrilled. "Yeah? Which one?"

She was quiet for a moment, not having actually decided. "Gilligan, who's A.M. and why do you want to dance with them?"

Gilligan frowned and looked away. "I didn't think we'd be switching lists."

"It's okay. I like a mystery." Mary Ann patted his stomach fondly. "Thank you for making me fly. Even though I was really grumpy when you made me get up early and put on pants. It was worth it." Mary Ann actually kissed his cheek this time and he flinched. He screwed his face up in his usual show and she laughed as she got to her feet. "I think today calls for a safari," she announced as she strolled down the hill toward camp.

Gilligan grinned and leapt to his feet in an instant. "Oh, boy!" He held his hat to his head with one hand as he bounded down the hill after her.

When they returned to camp, they approached the Howells' section of the hut to ask if Gilligan could borrow Mr. Howell's "funny bowl hat" for that afternoon's safari. Mrs. Howell beamed, clasping her hands before her, and insisted that the pith helmet would do nothing for Gilligan without the jacket with four thousand pockets, which of course could not be paired with anything but the matching shorts, knee socks, and hiking boots, which were conspicuously clean for being hiking boots. Mrs. Howell then insisted that if Mary Ann were going on safari as well, she would need similar attire. One must always be dressed properly for the situation at hand. Also, Mrs. Howell liked it when things came in matched sets, especially people.

Mrs. Howell quickly pushed the gear into Gilligan's hands and sent him off to change while she got Mary Ann ready, insisting that they hurry before Mr. Howell came back and charged them a rental fee.

Fully dressed, Mary Ann sat at the table in the middle of camp, idly playing with the pearls hanging around her neck. Her hands were sweating in their long white opera gloves, but Mrs. Howell had insisted that a real lady never "safaris" without them.

She sighed and pushed back her pith helmet. It had an annoying habit of sliding down over her eyes since it was used to perching perfectly on a flawlessly coiffed and hairspray-ed millionaire head and not to plopping haphazardly on her smaller, quickly brushed and unprocessed head. She glanced around the clearing impatiently.

Finally Gilligan emerged from the crew's quarters clad in Mr. Howell's safari gear, shorts drooping and his pith helmet hanging comically over half his face. Mary Ann snorted a laugh and covered her mouth, taking the moment it took for him to push his helmet back up to recover. She watched as he took the helmet off, frowned at it, and then produced his own hat from his back pocket. He deposited it on his head and balanced the helmet on top. When he was satisfied that he had solved the slipping problem, he strode over to the table, Mr. Howell's sword cane under one arm and the machete he stole from the Japanese sailor hanging on his belt.

Gilligan adjusted his silk cravat as he approached. "Lovey, dear, I do believe our butler's butler has scheduled us for a safari today," he drawled. "I do hope Charles cleared a space above the mantle for the wildebeest I'm going to make him shoot for me."

Mary Ann giggled. "You look ridiculous."

"So do you."

Mary Ann glanced down at her own outfit: Mrs. Howell's khaki shirt and matching long skirt, leopard print belt, tall brown boots, and too much jewelry. She hated to admit it, but she kind of liked it. It reminded her of the afternoons she spent playing dress-up with her cousins. "Are you ready for your safari?"

Gilligan nodded eagerly and his pith helmet swung down over his face again. "I don't know why I have to wear this outfit, though."

"You said you wanted to go on a real safari."

"Yeah, with the machetes and the guys who sit on the front of the Jeep with guns just in case the hippos charge."

"_And_ the funny hats like Mr. Howell wears," Mary Ann reminded him. "Besides, the knee socks are kinda cute."

Gilligan frowned and peered down at his knobby knees peeking out from below the hem of Mr. Howell's khaki shorts. His belt was pulled as tight as it would go, extra fabric bunching around his slim waist. The knee socks in question kept sneakily slipping down his skinny legs until they lay in puddles on top of his boots and he had to hike them up again. "I think they're silly."

Mary Ann stood and approached, eyeing him up and down until he squirmed uncomfortably. She finally planted her hands on her hips. "You look like a world famous explorer," she decided.

"And you look like a bored rich lady," he countered. Mary Ann smirked and smacked his helmet down over his eyes and turned toward the jungle. He reached out blindly, hands searching. "Mary Ann? Mary Ann, I'm sorry. Where are you?" He managed to push his helmet back into place just as he tripped over the canteen, binoculars, and other supplies waiting on the ground by the table.

Face down in the sand, he heard Mary Ann gasp dramatically from the edge of the clearing. "My goodness! Is that a lion?"

Gilligan spat sand from his mouth and hurried to gather up the supplies and both of his hats. "Where?" He scrambled to his feet just in time to see the gauzy scarf hanging from Mrs. Howell's pith helmet disappear into the jungle and he hurried after it.

# # # #

Gilligan and Mary Ann crouched in the underbrush, watching for any sign of wildlife.

More specifically, _Mary Ann_ was watching for any sign of wildlife.

Gilligan was noisily rummaging through the four thousand pockets on Mr. Howell's safari jacket looking for his pocket knife. A small pile of other items taken from the pockets sat on the ground in front of them: a pen, a Rolex, various snacks that Gilligan had packed for the afternoon, some loose diamonds, Mary Ann's list, and a roll of hundred dollar bills that Mr. Howell used to mop his perspiring brow.

"Gilligan, be quiet! If there are any wild animals on this island you'll scare them all away before you can see any of them."

"Sorry," he replied louder than necessary and she cringed. He dropped the canteen and it landed on a rock with a loud clang.

A bird took off from a nearby tree in protest and Mary Ann pointed after it. "See?"

Gilligan squinted in the direction it fled and shrugged. "It's okay. We're not safaring for birds, anyway." Not finding his pocket knife, he began shoving the other items back into the pockets, pausing to cross _Fly_ off of Mary Ann's list before tucking that safely away as well.

Mary Ann took the pen from him and removed Gilligan's list from her own pocket, flattening it out on her knee as she knelt in the grass. She triumphantly crossed off _Go on a safari_. When she returned the pen to him, he was frowning. "What?"

"It doesn't count as done until we're _done_."

"Gilligan, look at my hat." He did and he smirked. "We're on a safari. It counts."

The sound of branches breaking suddenly sliced through the air and their heads whipped around in unison. They crouched lower in the grass and peered toward the noise. Gilligan instinctively grabbed for the binoculars and pulled them toward him. He failed to remember that the strap was looped around Mary Ann's neck until he had yanked her into his lap and she yelped.

Gilligan stared down at her, wide eyed, as she grabbed blindly at his legs to push herself upright. Mary Ann plopped down beside him, right side up again, and shoved her pith helmet out of her face. "How about I be the scout and you be the hunter?" she suggested, taking back the binoculars.

Gilligan nodded. "Good idea." He took the machete from his belt and Mary Ann eyed it warily. "I think I –." He stopped and held a finger to his lips, head cocked to one side, ears perking up. He nodded toward the trail where the noise had come from and Mary Ann raised the binoculars. A few hundred yards away, the foliage was rustling with the movements of a large creature.

Gilligan and Mary Ann huddled together behind a fat pineapple bush and held their breath. After a moment, the Skipper lumbered out of the foliage and down the trail into a clearing about two hundred yards ahead of them. They watched him curiously as he paced restlessly. As they watched, Gilligan began whispering a monotone narration.

"King of beasts, the African lion. Roaming the open savanna fearing attack from no other animal. His roar is a threat to all who live within his range. Powerful, stealthy, with amazing physical abilities, this is the most feared hunter on the African continent. But no need to be afraid, W.K." Mary Ann turned and gave him a bemused smile. Gilligan was watching the Skipper intently, lips twitching in a proud smile as he thought up more parody narration. "This fearsome creature has just completed a hunt and will not harm you unless provoked. Just as the mother lion protects her cubs, you can protect your children with an insurance policy from Mutual of Omaha."

"Thank you, Marlin Perkins," Mary Ann whispered.

"You're welcome, W.K." Gilligan continued narrating, completely devoid of any emotion. "A successful hunt has ended and a heavy-maned lion grows drowsy under the hot afternoon sun." The Skipper sat down on a large rock and took of his cap, running his hand through his hair. He looked more exhausted than sleepy. "He lies on the open savanna with no thought of cover, for no animal would dare to attack him. But wait!" He spotted the Professor coming down the path toward the clearing. "My trusty and gullible sidekick Jim Fowler has approached the beast, intent to overpower him. Viewers, while Jim battles this five hundred pound cat, I'll just mix myself another martini."

Mary Ann burst out laughing and elbowed Gilligan in the ribs. They laughed and loudly shushed each other as the Professor reached the Skipper and a conversation ensued. Gilligan kept on narrating the scene and Mary Ann clamped both opera gloved hands over her mouth. Her side hurt from laughing and she repeatedly nudged Gilligan to make him stop, but this only encouraged him.

"As I stay over here, well out of harm's way, Jim approaches the beast with only his wits to protect him." The Professor was very intently trying to reason with the Skipper, who was adamantly disagreeing with him. "As always, Jim is unaware of how stupid this is."

As Gilligan continued his narration and Mary Ann watched the silent scene unfold in the clearing before her, she began to realize how upset the Skipper actually looked. Then she remembered the missile. Of course he would feel angry and guilty and helpless.

Mary Ann tugged on Gilligan's sleeve. "Gilligan, stop." But he didn't hear her, too amused by his commentary.

The Skipper was pacing again, waving his cap in the air angrily.

"As the king of the savanna and the pride's leader, the big cat does not take kindly to surrender."

The Professor went dizzy watching the captain, trying to get a word in and failing miserably.

"Stop, Gilligan."

"Poor Jim doesn't stand a chance. The alpha male is stubborn and will protect his pride at all costs."

The Skipper slapped his hat against a tree.

"Gilligan! _Stop!_"

Everyone froze. All sound was sucked out of the atmosphere as the Skipper and the Professor stared at the small khaki-clad figure which had sprung to her feet and was glaring down at Gilligan, who was still hidden behind the pineapple bush.

The Professor broke the silence first. "Mary Ann?"

Her head snapped up and she stared at the red-faced Skipper through huge eyes. "I'm sorry, Skipper."

The captain's mouth opened and closed a few times, unable to find his voice. His brow wrinkled in confusion as he took in her outfit. "_What are you doing?_" he yelled much more intensely than he intended and she flinched violently.

"Skipper, relax." The Professor quickly stepped up beside him.

"I ... I ..." Mary Ann couldn't find the words to make him understand. Everything that came to her mind sounded completely insane.

Thankfully, Gilligan chose this moment to get to his feet and step in front of her. "We're going on a safari, Skipper," he informed him bluntly, sliding the machete purposefully back into his belt.

Gilligan saw the Skipper's temper boiling under the surface and braced himself for the worst eruption yet, but the Skipper turned to the Professor instead, pointing at the two youngest castaways with his cap. "This is exactly what I'm talking about, Professor. No one understands how serious this is! The Howells throw a new version of their will into the ocean every two hours. Ginger's complaining about how she'll only be remembered for that movie she made about the hula girl. You're talking to me about the specifics of _how exactly we'll blow up_!" The Professor looked slightly ashamed and the Skipper rounded on Gilligan and Mary Ann. "And these two! Look at them! They act like children!"

Gilligan steeled his backbone and took a few steps toward the distraught captain. The Professor stepped forward, arms out, ready to hold them apart. Mary Ann stayed close behind Gilligan, gripping the khaki jacket that hung too big on him. "Skipper, stop!" he yelled, standing up a little straighter in Mr. Howell's boots and gripping the sword cane.

"Skipper, everyone's dealing with this differently," the Professor added calmly, but the captain didn't seem to hear him.

The Skipper shook his head and heaved a sigh that could move mountains. "Little buddy, you don't get it. _We're all going to die._"

This hung heavy in the air for a long moment. No one had said it so frankly and so loudly out in public before. They all stole a glance into the heavens, afraid that the missile heard this and would take it as its cue.

"We know, Skipper," Mary Ann whispered from behind Gilligan's shoulder.

"And there's nothing we can do about it!"

Gilligan stood his ground. "We're doing something about it. We're doing a lot of things about it. Carp the diem, Skipper." The Professor was unable to hold back a smile at this as Gilligan turned around and held his hand out to Mary Ann. "Come on. Let's go."

Mary Ann took his arm and gripped his bicep close to her as they left. She glanced back at the Skipper, growing smaller in the distance. He had visibly deflated and the color was draining from his face and under the collar of his shirt. He sat back down on the rock and the Professor laid a steady hand on his shoulder.

Mary Ann took Gilligan's list out of her pocket and unfolded it. He tried to squirm away as she fished around in a few of his jacket's four thousand pockets until she found the pen. And as they returned to camp in their baggy borrowed clothes, a little shaken but a little proud, she crossed off _Tame a lion_.


	5. Go Camping

**a.k.a.**  
><strong>The Love Story of Skinny Mulligan and Florence Oppenheimer<strong>

That evening, Gilligan and Mary Ann stood in the center of what Gilligan had finally deemed the perfect clearing. They had spent the last hour dragging pounds of supplies back and forth across the island to find the ideal spot.

If Gilligan was going to go camping, he was going to do it right.

As soon as they entered this particular clearing, Mary Ann saw his eyes widen and knew they had found the one. She dropped everything in a pile before he could find something wrong with the area and made herself comfortable on a nearby rock.

Mary Ann had to admit that the spot was gorgeous. The clearing was almost a perfect circle, surrounded on all sides by towering trees. The canopy broke here to allow for stargazing, which Gilligan had explained was a required camping activity, along with telling ghost stories and roasting marshmallows (which she had to remind him that they didn't have) and playing games and staying up all night.

The clearing was far enough away from camp to give them the full camping experience, but still close enough so that the others agreed to let them go without too much of a fight. If tonight was the night, they wanted everyone together.

That afternoon when they returned from their safari, Mr. Howell was pacing irritably outside the hut, demanding to know why his wife didn't charge them a rental fee for the clothes and equipment. Mrs. Howell sighed as he wore a path in the sand and gently reminded him that he can't take it with him.

When Mary Ann took Gilligan's list from her pocket and announced that they were going camping that night, the first mate's eyes lit up like it was Christmas morning. He ran into the hut and reappeared not ten seconds later in his own clothes again and struggling to carry everything they'd need, and a few things they probably wouldn't, for a night in the wilderness.

Mrs. Howell was naturally scandalized and insisted that they couldn't go without a chaperone. She immediately volunteered her husband, who stamped his foot in the sand and retreated to the hut. Mrs. Howell watched Gilligan try to untangle himself from his fishing pole and gently took Mary Ann's elbow. "Darling, I know you want to experience everything before the time comes, but ... try not to experience everything, alright?"

Mary Ann stared at her for a moment before her mouth fell open in shock. "_Mrs. Howell!_"

Ginger stifled a giggle in her hand and the older woman shrugged nonchalantly. "It's perfectly natural to want to get the most out of life, especially when you're young."

Mary Ann gaped at her. "Mrs. Howell! That's not on my list!"

Ginger shrugged. "Maybe it should be."

"What's not on your list?" Gilligan's head popped up from behind his duffle bag, one foot stuck up in the air and tangled in his fishing line.

"Never mind, Gilligan."

"Oh, I remember!" he suddenly exclaimed and Ginger arched one eyebrow. "You told me something yesterday that you didn't write on your list."

Mary Ann felt her face redden and she willed the ground beneath her feet to open up and swallow her whole. "Never _mind_, Gilligan."

But Ginger was smiling. "What was it?" she asked.

"Don't you remember, Mary Ann? You said you wanted to get married and experience true love and have a baby." Gilligan grinned proudly at his sharp memory, straightened his hat, and concentrated on untangling his foot from the fishing line. "I told her we probably wouldn't have time for that," he added and Mary Ann lowered her head, pith helmet sliding slowly down over her eyes.

"Gilligan, dear," Mrs. Howell called, patting Mary Ann's arm comfortingly. "You will be pitching separate tents tonight, won't you?"

"Oh, sure, Mrs. Howell."

As Mrs. Howell nodded and led Mary Ann away, Ginger slid up onto the edge of the table and perched there, watching Gilligan extract his foot from the fishing line. She crossed her legs and folded her hands on her knee. When the first mate was finally free, he stood up straight and flinched when he discovered her sitting there watching him so intently.

"Hi, Ginger."

Ginger slid off the table in one fluid movement and was in front of him in an instant. She smiled mischievously. "You better stay in your own tent tonight, mister." The movie star tapped him playfully on the nose and glided away, her ringing laughter floating back on the breeze.

Mrs. Howell had led Mary Ann away under the pretense of collecting her safari gear, but instead proceeded to give her all sorts of what she thought was helpful motherly advice. Mary Ann said nothing, horrified, and tried to ignore Mrs. Howell's whispered counsel and conspiratorial nudges. Mr. Howell was pacing behind the blanket wall clearing his throat and dropping things to drown out the one-sided conversation in the next room.

Now Mary Ann sat on the rock on the edge of their campsite, chin cradled in her palm, watching Gilligan try to start a fire by rubbing two sticks together. "Why don't you just use your matches?"

"Because then it's not camping."

"I promise not to report you."

"No, it has to count."

Mary Ann sighed. One of the sticks snapped and Gilligan's momentum drove the sharp end into his palm and he yelped. He tossed it aside onto a steadily growing pile of other broken sticks and retrieved a new one. "Can I help? I was a Girl Scout, you know."

Gilligan straightened up and stared at her. He looked insulted. "Mary Ann. I was in the Navy." He bent over the structure he had built of twigs and leaves again. He had spent half an hour building it, all the while describing the precise specifications for the perfect campfire.

"Forgive me. I'm sure there were lots of fires aboard ship."

Gilligan was now blowing onto a tiny wisp of smoke that had appeared from the depths of his twig teepee. He huffed and puffed and encouraged the gray curl until he made himself lightheaded and toppled over. But the work was done and the leaves began to smolder, the twigs catching soon after.

"I had to learn how to do a lot of stuff." Gilligan sat down beside Mary Ann on the rock. "How to build a fire. How to tie all those crazy knots. How to pitch a swell tent." Gilligan gestured to the two tents he had constructed out of extra sheets.

"They're gorgeous," Mary Ann offered and he grinned. He looked enormously proud of himself, but, truthfully, the tents were a little lopsided and a little rickety, but they had a certain offbeat backwoods charm and it was better than sharing the communal hut with six other people.

Tonight Mary Ann had her own personal space with a pillow and extra blankets and she could lie with her head outside the tent and gaze into the heavens. Gilligan's identical tent stood beside hers and he had already filled it with snacks and an interesting rock he found on their walk and some comic books in case they got bored.

But Gilligan highly doubted that they'd get bored. He had big plans for tonight.

After they fully set up camp and unpacked and had a proper camping dinner cooked over the fire, Gilligan announced that it was time for dessert and Mary Ann had to remind him yet again that they didn't have any marshmallows for roasting. So Gilligan announced that it was time for ghost stories instead and then looked immediately apprehensive at the mere mention of the word "ghost."

Mary Ann told him a story that the Skipper had told them one night around the bonfire after Gilligan had already gotten scared and gone to bed – with the lantern on, of course. It was about a native cannibal chief who was so evil that his own cannibal tribesmen turned on him. But they were too superstitious to eat him, so they buried him way up in the mountains of this island and every full moon – here Gilligan peeked up into the sky to make sure it wasn't a full moon – his ghost got hungry. It was bizarre and didn't make much sense, but she loved to watch him pretend not to be scared, to play the big strong man character and boast that he'd protect her from anything and then jump three feet in the air every time a bird squawked in the jungle.

Gilligan then told her a ghost story about a ninja and a caterpillar. The tale had plot holes big enough to drive a bus through, but she played along and pretended to be scared at the appropriate parts so that he could puff out his chest some more and tell her not to worry, that it was only a story, but if it were real then he'd be there to protect her.

Later that night as they lay in their separate tents talking a little about everything and a lot about nothing, the magnitude of their adventure over the past few months finally hit her. Mary Ann lay on her stomach on her makeshift blanket mattress, her head and shoulders outside of the tent and her chin resting on her hands. The fire glowed orange in front of them and the moon shone brightly overhead. Gilligan was babbling on about something next door.

Mary Ann felt like a gypsy or a traveler in an old fashioned wagon train, living only with whatever could be packed quickly and carried with them. She would be the mysterious fortune teller or the adorable schoolteacher and Gilligan would be the magician who never quite got his tricks right or the scout with a big floppy hat who fell off his horse.

"Mary Ann?"

His voice jarred her from her thoughts. He was watching her with raised eyebrows.

"Sorry. What?"

"It's my turn."

"Oh, okay. Truth or Dare?"

"Dare!" he yelled, grinning and watching her expectantly.

Mary Ann's forehead wrinkled in thought. "Okay. Um ... go climb that tree over there." Gilligan screwed his face up in disapproval and she sighed. "You know I'm no good at Dare, Gilligan. Pick Truth."

"I don't want to," he pouted. "I know what you're gonna ask me."

Mary Ann rolled onto her side so she could watch him properly and bunched her pillow up under her ear. "Who's A.M. and why do you want to dance with them?"

Gilligan stared up at the stars, his hands folded over his stomach. Mary Ann could tell that he was on the verge of actually saying something pertinent, so she waited. "I don't," he finally admitted. "Not anymore. It's just something that happened a while ago that always kinda bothered me. Truth or Dare?" he asked before she could ask any more questions.

"Truth."

Gilligan sighed dramatically. "You always say Truth."

"That's because your dares are scary and dangerous. I'm not going to poke Gladys and then run away."

"But you flew this morning."

"And it was scary and dangerous."

Mary Ann wasn't sure if Gilligan was aware of how long he paused before speaking sometimes. It was usually before he said something inadvertently profound or so simple and truthful that it froze you in your tracks and made you rethink every choice you've ever made. When he spoke next, his voice was low and reverent, like he was divulging the greatest secret on earth. "But once you fly, you can do anything."

Mary Ann got the impression that he was concerned that she hadn't realized this on her own, that he had taught her to fly incorrectly and it didn't take. "Truth, Gilligan," she reminded him.

"You really wanna get married, don't you?"

"Well ... sure. Doesn't everyone?"

"I guess." He was quiet for a long time. "If we had a week left instead of a day ... I'd marry you."

"Thanks, Gilligan."

"I mean it."

Gilligan then gave her the most sincere look she'd ever seen and Mary Ann's heart ballooned, flooding with feelings for her life, her experiences, her best friend – gratitude, love, premature loss.

"I know," she whispered.

"I want to do everything you want to do. Even if you didn't write it down."

Gilligan noticed her looking at him strangely, almost pained, so he grinned his goofiest grin, the one he knew always made her laugh – and she did. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to the stars twinkling above them.

"Skinny Mulligan and Florence Oppenheimer experienced true love," he blurted casually. Mary Ann's eyes widened, but Gilligan didn't seem fazed and he sailed blithely on. "Florence's dad went crazy and chased Skinny all over town." Gilligan laughed. "He hid in my tree house for a week."

Mary Ann frowned. "What are you talking about?" She didn't want to ask, just in case, but she was never sure that he was talking about what she thought he was talking about.

Gilligan turned and their eyes met. "True love," he answered simply and looked away again.

Mary Ann wanted to find out what he meant, but she didn't want to ask – _just in case_ he was actually talking about something that she didn't want all the gory details of. But apparently this was such a good story that Gilligan continued without prompting.

"Skinny had kinda liked Florence for a while and he was real embarrassed about it, but when we were thirteen he got more serious. She was our friend for a long time and she always gave him her dessert and told him how wonderful he was when he answered a question in class. His answers were always wrong, too. It was disgusting and Skinny would just kinda laugh and then hit his head on his locker. One day he came over my house and he was acting really strange and said he needed somewhere to hide from Mr. Oppenheimer. He was all jittery and excited, but every once in a while he'd stare off into space with this dumb look on his face and I'd have to yell at him to get him back. I thought he was dying, but ..."

Gilligan rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, as if afraid that Skinny would appear and bawl his best buddy out for revealing all his mushy secrets. By this point, Mary Ann was entranced. She was lying on her stomach, hanging halfway out of her tent only about a foot away from him, hugging her pillow under her chin and listening intently.

"But ... he told me he just experienced true love. I started to make fun of him, but I never saw him so serious." Gilligan shook his head. "He said he walked Florence home like usual. And he was telling her about some animal he saw or a good comic book he read or something and all of a sudden she reached out –"

Gilligan reached out and laid his hand down in the grass between them, palm up. Mary Ann looked down at it lying in the grass in front of her.

"– and she took his hand –"

Mary Ann wanted to, but she clutched her pillow to keep her own hand safely to herself. Gilligan studied his palm, brow furrowing slightly as he watched his fingers twitch.

"– and she held it."

He looked up at Mary Ann, who was completely mesmerized.

"For no reason."

Gilligan pulled his arm back, tucking it safely under his chin and he made himself comfortable in the grass, staring into the fire.

"So after that Skinny was feeling pretty brave. Florence held his hand all the way to her house and by the time they got there, Skinny decided that he was gonna kiss her. So he did. And then her dad came outside and chased him across town with a baseball bat." Gilligan laughed at the memory of Skinny barging into his house and locking the door, pulling Gilligan down below the window and the two of them watching as Mr. Oppenheimer stalked, squinty-eyed and clutching the bat, up and down the street for half an hour.

"They were still together when we got shipwrecked. I hope they get married, even though I won't get to go." He shrugged sadly. "But that was their first kiss – before they broke the World Kissing Record." Gilligan paused and peered sidelong at Mary Ann. She was still listening intently. "He said he could tell it was true love. I still remember what he told me it felt like. Do you want to know what he said?"

Mary Ann nodded.

"He said it felt like he got punched in the gut." He frowned. "Or was that because Florence punched him in the gut afterwards?" Gilligan shrugged again, dismissing this. "Anyway, Skinny said it felt really weird. He said he was tingly all over, like pins and needles everywhere. Even his toes tingled. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see straight. He couldn't think. He could barely stand up."

Gilligan stared into the fire. He squinted a little and Mary Ann could tell he was thinking very hard. She was always fascinated by the things that stuck with him. He remembered this very clearly for some reason and it was obvious that he thought about it on occasion.

"Skinny said he felt like his legs would give out from under him, but also that he could float away without them. I don't know how you can feel all those different things at the same time, but that's what he said. It was weird and scary and fantastic all at once. He said there were a million butterflies inside him ready to lift him up. That's what true love feels like," he concluded sincerely. "Like flying."

Gilligan turned to her. Mary Ann was watching him in awe. She suddenly had the overpowering urge to grab him and see if Skinny was telling the truth. She was close enough to just lean forward and kiss him, but she gripped her pillow tighter and swallowed hard, pushing the desire deep down inside her.

"Is that what you want?"

Mary Ann nodded again. "I want to fly," she whispered.

Gilligan smiled. "But we flew this morning." His brow furrowed then and he glanced away, pondering this and seeming to realize for the first time that he'd taken something literally that wasn't meant to be. He shrugged and shook his head a little before grinning again. "Guess what Skinny said to Florence when it was over." Gilligan waited for her to guess, but Mary Ann kept watching him intensely. "He said, 'Ow.'"

"_Ow_?"

"He kissed her and then he said 'ow.' Because it felt like he got electrocuted." Gilligan suddenly smirked. "I think that's when she punched him in the gut."


	6. Untitled

It was only a little after noon, but the sun had disappeared and the sky was black. The air was so thick you could almost reach out and grab a handful. No tropical sea breeze could penetrate the dense smoke that covered the island like a scratchy wool blanket.

Mary Ann didn't know how she was standing. She didn't know how she was uninjured. And she didn't know where everyone else was. Every time she opened her mouth to yell for them she choked on the thick black smoke.

Her eyes stung. Her lungs burned. She couldn't breathe.

She pressed her palms over her ringing ears and winced. Beyond the ringing, everything was scarily quiet.

The sun was gone, but the temperature rose at an alarming rate. Dust and other particles in the air clung to her sweaty skin. The ground was hot and the air stunk of burning – plants, animals, things she didn't want to think about. Fires spotted the landscape, crackling and snapping and popping silently.

Trees stripped of their leaves stood soaring into the heavens, black and charred and naked. The island's thick gorgeous vegetation was blown from existence in a millisecond. Mary Ann turned in place, disoriented, searching for a landmark, her hair whipping her in the face and sticking there. She began running in no particular direction, stumbling to a halt after a few hundred yards to the horrible discovery that it looked exactly like where she had just come from.

_Where is everyone?_

Panic set in and Mary Ann's chest heaved. She involuntarily sucked more polluted air into her lungs and she gagged. She wanted to cry, but the intense heat left her with no tears.

"Skipper!" she was finally able to scream. "Professor!" She mustered all her energy, balled her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, for one powerful shout. "_Gilligan!_" she shrieked.

The sound was absorbed instantly into the thick cloud. Mary Ann waited, straining her ears to listen for anything beyond the ringing.

As if in direct reply to her shouts, a smoldering object dropped from the sky and landed beside her. It smelled of burning fur. She didn't want to look, but couldn't stop herself from creeping closer.

From behind wisps of smoke, Mr. Howell's beloved teddy bear stared back at her through dark plastic eyes. Mary Ann jumped back, more horrified than if it had been a real creature.

_That doesn't mean anything_.

Mary Ann looked up. The black cloud churned violently like the familiar Kansan sky as it prepared to unleash a tornado. More orange flickering objects cavorted in the cloud, growing larger as they descended to earth.

Another item crashed beside the bear, ripped and charred, but still recognizable as one of Mrs. Howell's parasols.

Mary Ann soon found herself screaming into the sky, waving away the still falling items, demanding them to stop with the sheer power of her will. She sobbed dry tears, yelling incoherently into the smoke as the life preserver from the S.S. Minnow shot from the sky, bounced once on its side as it hit the ground, rolled in a circle, and landed, smoking, directly in front of her. A second later, the radio crashed beside it and she jumped back.

Mary Ann dropped to her knees and her eyes raked over the smoldering objects. She was caked with dust and her skin prickled. Her hair stuck to her face and neck. She reached out tentatively for Mrs. Howell's parasol, but burning embers sprinkled from the sky onto her arm and she pulled back.

Mary Ann watched, mesmerized, as a light gauzy object slowly floated above her, raining fire. It danced on the nonexistent breeze, taking its time in descending to earth, curls of smoke reaching back from its corners into the heavens. Mary Ann watched it intently, its slow undulating movements stretching out time in an eerily peaceful interlude.

Mary Ann suddenly gasped. "Ginger!"

Upon this realization, Ginger's scarf dropped to the ground in front of her like a ton of bricks.

"Ginger, no!"

Mary Ann's gaze returned to the sky, desperately searching for anything else. "Gilligan?" Mary Ann stood and turned in place, craning her neck to peer upward. "Gilligan!"

Something flopped to the ground a few feet away and Mary Ann threw herself at it, landing above it on all fours. She stared down at the blackened and smoking object, her brain taking way too long to register that it was the remains of Gilligan's hat.

Mary Ann's heart stopped. Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't breathe for what felt like an eternity, until all of her senses rushed back at once and she gasped for air, heart pounding so hard against her ribs that she thought it would leap from her body and bounce away.

Strength gone, she dropped to the ground, skin burning where it touched the boiling earth. She rolled onto her back and pressed her grimy forearms over her eyes. She lay alone amidst the smoldering artifacts, body convulsing with dry sobs. The more grief-stricken she became, the more smoke she unintentionally sucked into her lungs.

"Mary Ann. Mary Ann?"

She thought she was imagining it at first. Her ears were still ringing, but she heard her name very faintly through the din, far away and muted. A cruel joke from the fates.

"Mary Ann?"

Louder this time. She was beginning to feel dizzy. Everything was becoming blurry. Blackness slowly crept in from her peripheral vision, so she closed her eyes.

"Mary Ann!"

She felt a pressure on her upper arms. Her breathing slowed. The air tasted awful. Each breath was shallower than the last as her lungs filled with the thick noxious smoke.

"_Mary Ann, __wake up__!_"

Her eyes flew open and she inhaled a huge gulp of fresh crisp tropical night air, back arching clear off the ground.

Gilligan hovered over her, gripping her arms, his eyes wide.

Mary Ann stared up at him and her eyes flickered to his hat – clean, white, and perched on his head where it should be.

In an instant, she scrambled into his lap and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, clutching handfuls of his shirt. She breathed deeply to refill her lungs, trying to make the sweet scent of Gilligan's homemade soap and coconut hair tonic overpower the acrid stench of smoke and destruction that she could still smell.

Gilligan sat still, unsure of exactly what to do, until she began to calm down. Her hair brushed his cheek and he felt her tears drying on his neck. She was still trembling, so he raised his arms around her and laid his hands on her back.

Her grip on his shirt relaxed and her head rolled onto his shoulder, his collarbone digging into her cheek. She stared at his buttons, still fighting to regain control of her breathing.

"What was it about?" Gilligan finally asked.

Mary Ann shook her head.

"Do you want to hear about mine?"

She shook her head again, harder this time.

"It has a happy ending."

Mary Ann tilted her head so she could look up at him. He was smiling. "How could it?"

"The missile lands, but it doesn't explode right away. So the Professor says that we can climb in and undo the wires so it won't explode. I'm the only one little enough to fit inside. Except you, but I won't let you go."

Mary Ann sighed and patted his chest. "My hero."

"Yeah, so he gives me some tools and tells me which wires to disconnect. So I climb in and it's real dark and scary. But I find the right wire and it works and we're saved!"

"I wish it would happen that way, Gilligan."

"Me, too."

She went quiet and Gilligan glanced around at the tent he had constructed and then down at the girl in his lap. She was almost asleep again. His face suddenly fell. "Mary Ann?" he whispered urgently, voice cracking. "Mary Ann! I didn't stay in my own tent."


	7. The 50,000 Dollar Hotpants

_This one's for you, Teobi. Especially the rainbows and the shorts, haha._

* * *

><p>The next morning dawned as awkwardly as possible as Mary Ann woke up to find Gilligan in her tent and herself in his lap. He was passed out sitting up, head hanging forward with his forehead resting on the top of her head. He was snoring gently into her ear.<p>

Gilligan then woke up to find that Gladys had commandeered his tent and was curled up on his blanket and perusing one of his comic books as if she could actually read it and appreciate Superman's exploits. He kicked her out and she screeched at him, pulling him into her arms and making mocking snoring noises right in his face.

"Knock it off, Gladys! You're so nosey!" Gilligan freed himself and she ran off into the jungle, whooping and chattering her gorilla laugh.

From the next tent, he heard Mary Ann giggle. "She loves you."

"She drives me crazy. She's ..." He trailed off as he noticed that the rising morning sun was shining into the clearing at the perfect angle to project Mary Ann's shadow onto the white sheet used to build her tent. Inside, she was getting changed for the day. Her shadow slid her short shorts up over her hips.

"She's what, Gilligan?" Mary Ann called.

"Shorts," he muttered.

"What?"

"She's short!" he blurted.

Mary Ann laughed. "Gilligan, she's a monkey!"

"I mean ... she's really annoying for ... something so ... short." He turned away and shook his head violently. He smacked himself on the forehead to dislodge the image, plus the subsequent images that his brain decided to create without his consent.

"Are you okay?" Mary Ann asked, suddenly right behind him, and he jumped. She tried to lay her hand on his forehead, but he stepped back. "Gilligan, do you feel alright?" Mary Ann stepped forward and went up on her toes, tugging at his shirt with one hand so she could feel his forehead with the other. "You're a little warm," she decided, stepping back again.

Gilligan was using every ounce of his willpower to keep looking at her face, but the more she scrutinized him the more he wanted to look away and there was only one place that his brain would direct his eyes at that moment – down.

This didn't go unnoticed by Mary Ann and she looked down at her shorts, thinking he was trying to tactfully tell her that she'd sat in something or the zipper was undone. "What's the matter?" She twisted around to look at the back, arching her back and peering over her shoulder. "I can't see." She turned her back fully on Gilligan. "Am I okay?"

"Yes. I mean, no! I mean – I mean you – you should wear pants from now on. Every day. We better get back to camp. We have a busy day ahead of us, what with getting blown up and everything." Gilligan began flying around the campsite collecting things and finally dove into her tent to gather the blankets.

Mary Ann watched his shadow through the sheet. He shook his head again and she began to realize that if she could see him, then he could see her. Gilligan emerged from the tent with an armful of blankets and shoved them into his duffel bag before abruptly pulling down the offending sheet and rolling it up into a ball. The more he went about his business without looking at her, the funnier Mary Ann began to find the whole situation. She fought to keep a straight face as she packed up and they began heading back to camp in silence.

Mary Ann watched him trudge forward steadily in front of her. He was rushing and she had to trot to keep up with him. When she did end up ahead of him on the trail once or twice, he would speed up until he was safely in front of her again and Mary Ann would bite back her laughter. Gilligan was looking sufficiently distracted and flustered by the time they reached the hut and Mary Ann was grinning widely, trying not to laugh outright at him.

"You didn't stay in your own tent, did you?" Ginger blurted as soon as she saw them emerge from the jungle. Mrs. Howell and Ginger had been poised on the edge of the clearing for over an hour now waiting for them to return and hoping for some proper gossip. Gilligan blanched and tripped over his own feet, nearly falling over with a pile of camping supplies on top of him.

"Ginger!" Mary Ann exclaimed, immediately horrified.

"Well, did you?" Ginger pressed. Gilligan's confusion and his inability to tell a convincing lie resulted in him stammering so severely that the actress finally just smiled and laid a gentle hand on his chest to make him stop. Ginger shot Mary Ann a proud smile.

"Ginger! I had a nightmare!"

"Aw, and the dear boy went to comfort you," Mrs. Howell cooed, touched but a little disappointed.

Unfortunately, Gilligan chose this moment to recover. "She kept yelling my name."

Ginger grinned and winked at the first mate. "Good for you, Gilligan."

# # # #

Mary Ann stood tentatively on the edge of the clearing. The Skipper sat at the table listening intently to the radio, as he'd been doing nonstop for the past few days. She folded and refolded Gilligan's list nervously. She hadn't spoken to the Skipper since their encounter in the jungle the day before and she hoped he wasn't still angry. Once Ginger finally stopped teasing her, the actress told Mary Ann that he'd calmed down and felt awful and suggested that he might know the mystery behind Gilligan's last list item.

She was about to approach the table when he looked up suddenly and she froze in her tracks. The Skipper turned off the radio for the first time in two days and stood, meeting Mary Ann in the center of the clearing.

"Hi, Skipper."

"Mary Ann, I'm sorry. I –."

"It's okay, Skipper. You were right. We do act like children sometimes."

The Skipper took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair. He looked even more exhausted than he had yesterday, if possible. "Honestly, Mary Ann, I think you two have the healthiest approach to this."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Mary Ann unfolded Gilligan's list and handed it to the captain. "Do you know what the last thing on here means?" The Skipper took the paper and squinted at it. "I'd like to help him finish it before ... you know. It's the only one left."

The Skipper replaced his cap and looked up from the list for a moment. "What about you? Is he helping you with your list?"

Mary Ann shrugged. "I didn't do my list right. Everything on it is pretty impossible, but he's trying." She suddenly grinned and her whole face lit up brighter than the lighthouse at Diamond Head and the Skipper imagined she could lead him into Honolulu Harbor just as safely. She stepped forward and laid her hand on his arm. "Skipper," she whispered, awe-struck and still brimming with exhilaration. "We flew."

The Skipper chuckled and shook his head. "Don't tell him I told you this, Mary Ann, but Gilligan has a knack for being able to somehow make the impossible possible. Or at least make you feel like you're doing something impossible while doing something completely possible. Maybe that's because he's _being_ impossible while you're doing it." The Skipper blustered a little and Mary Ann smiled. "You see? He's not even here and he's driving me crazy!"

"I know what you mean. But look at _his_ list – everything on there is so darn achievable. Except the last one, but that's only because I don't know what it means."

The captain studied the list. He frowned and turned it toward her, pointing at the crossed-off _Tame a lion_. "That's me, isn't it?" Mary Ann nodded sheepishly, but to her surprise the Skipper chuckled again. "In the Navy he was the only one who could calm me down when I went off at the other guys. Usually because he'd get me so mad at him that I'd forget why I was yelling at them in the first place."

"You know him so well that Ginger thought maybe you'd know what the last one means."

The Skipper returned to studying the list. "_Dance with A.M._ Gilligan can't dance. And who's A.M.?"

Mary Ann shrugged. "I was hoping you'd know. He said he didn't even really want to dance with them anymore, but it's something that happened a long time ago that still bothered him. I guess he wants to be at peace with it."

The Skipper was peering at the sheet of paper and mumbling to himself. "Dance? He told me a story about his eighth grade dance once, but I was busy trying to fix the radio on the Minnow and he was just sitting there on the dock babbling away, so I wasn't really paying attention. It was a serious Gilligan story, though." The Skipper was speaking aloud as he thought and Mary Ann didn't dare interrupt him while he was riding a train of thought that seemed to be running on schedule. "A.M.? You sound familiar," he muttered at the paper, "Who are you? A.M. A.M..." Mary Ann was about to thank the Skipper for the information that he could give her when he suddenly smacked the paper with the back of his hand. "Annemarie Martin!" he shouted victoriously.

Mary Ann's eyes widened. "Who's that?" she demanded, a little more indignantly than she meant to.

The Skipper eyed her strangely for a moment. "Well, it could be her, but I can't know for sure. Annemarie was in his class. He mentioned her only a few times. Skinny Mulligan put two thousand marbles in her locker once." The Skipper smiled at the story. "And he switched the dead frog she was supposed to dissect in science class with a live one. She screamed blue murder and got slime in her hair and went to the nurse." He suddenly started laughing. It started small and kept building until his great booming laugh nearly shook the entire island. "She had to go home early because of her nerves! And then he put ants under her desk." By now the Skipper was in tears, his face and neck turning red. He needed this laugh more than he realized and suddenly found that he couldn't stop. "Halfway through her history test she jumped up and started screaming and scratching and ran all the way home! Skinny tortured that poor girl!"

The Skipper wiped his eyes and Mary Ann shoved her hands onto her hips. She didn't want to feel bad for this girl, but she couldn't help it. After hearing Skinny's description of true love the previous night, Mary Ann was a little in love with him herself, but now she wasn't so sure. "Why?"

The Skipper sucked in a deep breath to calm himself down. "Apparently she deserved it. She did something to Gilligan and Skinny went to war. I'd have done the same. I always told my little buddy that if Skinny Mulligan ever wanted to enlist I'd be proud to have him on my ship."

Mary Ann immediately grew concerned. Skinny was a hero again. "What did she do?"

"I don't know. You know how Gilligan leaves those parts out of his stories. It might have something to do with the dance, but I don't know. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

"That's okay, Skipper. You've helped a lot. Thank you." Mary Ann took the list, carefully folded it and slid it back into her pocket. She looked up at the Skipper; for a moment he had seemed like his old jolly self, but now he looked tired and drawn again. He started to reach for the radio to turn it back on, but Mary Ann suddenly leapt forward and threw her arms around him.

Mary Ann loved Skipper hugs. He was like a big, strong, cuddly, protective teddy bear and when he folded you up in his arms, you disappeared. Sometimes when he was really happy, he'd impulsively scoop you up and swing you around in an exuberant circle. There were no exuberant circles today and his embrace felt remarkably less strong, but Mary Ann squeezed her arms around him like she'd cling to her uncle when she was a little girl.

"Skipper, what's on your list?"

"Beat the Belly Buster at Barnacle Bill's."

Mary Ann looked up at him incredulously. "That's what Gilligan said you'd say."

The Skipper nodded solemnly. "It's a very big honor. They put your picture up on the wall and everything."

Mary Ann giggled. "Seriously, Skipper. If you could only do one thing before it comes, what would you do?"

He sighed and stared off into the jungle. He tightened his arms around her shoulders and she felt a little of the familiar strength return. "I'd save you."

Mary Ann hugged him tighter. "You already did."

# # # #

"What about a Sun Dog? Or Red Tide?"

"Gilligan..."

"Eclipse? Supermoon?"

"Gilligan, dear, I don't believe you can plan those."

"Fire Rainbow? Double Rainbow!"

"Darling, please, you're giving me a headache." Mrs. Howell turned from rooting through one of her suitcases. She was holding a handful of Mr. Howell's neckties.

"I want people to think of me when they see a rainbow. You know ... after. Because they're happy."

Mrs. Howell froze in her tracks and stared at him. "Gilligan, that's beautiful."

"Then promise me you will."

Mrs. Howell smiled sadly. "Sweetheart, I'm coming with you, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." Gilligan looked devastated that the refined and poised Lovey Howell would be subject to the same cruel fate as the rest of them. He always thought the Howells were invincible. Then, just as quickly as he had become derailed, he was back on his original train of thought. "But do you think she'd like any of those things?"

"You can't just decide you want a double rainbow and suddenly it will appear." Mrs. Howell held up the ties one by one to decide which went best with his complexion. "You're not a leprechaun. Besides, I thought there were lists involved." Mrs. Howell came to a decision and tossed all but one tie over her shoulder where they landed like coils of silk snakes on the ground.

"Yeah, but Mary Ann didn't write as much stuff on her list as I did," he explained as Mrs. Howell buttoned the top button of his rugby shirt and slipped the tie under his collar. "I want to make it even."

Mrs. Howell laughed delightedly. "Gilligan, you can't pick something for someone else's list!"

"But I have four things on my list and she only has two. And we've done almost all of mine and only one of hers!"

"What if Mary Ann doesn't care about a double rainbow?"

"Yes, she will. They're pretty." Gilligan pouted and his brow furrowed with thought. "I think I did my list wrong," he blurted.

"Oh, pooh," Mrs. Howell admonished as she tied the tie into a perfect Windsor knot.

"All of her things are really good and mine are just normal stuff. Mrs. Howell," he breathed and she looked up from her work. He was grinning, looking at the same time incredibly moved and extraordinarily proud of himself. "We flew."

Mrs. Howell smiled back at him and gave the tie one final tug. She patted his chest lovingly. "You sweet boy. If she only had two things on her list, then maybe that's all she wants."

Gilligan was shaking his head before she finished her sentence. "But it's not. She has other stuff that she didn't write down. Don't you remember?"

Mrs. Howell froze for a moment, halfway into the makeshift closet, her hand gripping the shoulder of one of her husband's blazers. She sighed. "I remember, dear." Mrs. Howell returned to him with the jacket.

"And there's another thing she didn't write down either."

"Gilligan, turn around." He obeyed and Mrs. Howell slipped the jacket onto his back. "Darling ... most women want the same things out of life, but these things are not always in the cards for us all." She turned him around again, appraising him critically and wiping some invisible lint from his shoulders. "For example, I wanted children, but that wasn't my lot in life. Perhaps there are some things that you can't help her with."

Mrs. Howell picked up a white gardenia from the table and pinned it to the lapel of his jacket. She concentrated on pinning the flower at the perfect angle, avoiding his piercing gaze as he peered down at her, pondering her words.

"Isn't there something that you didn't write on your list?" Mrs. Howell suddenly asked, catching him off guard.

"Well ... yeah. But she also said she –."

"Gilligan, maybe you should focus on the other thing that she did write down. That's what she wants from you."

Still not satisfied with her handiwork, Mrs. Howell plucked the hat from his head and set it down on the table as she picked up a comb. "This will never do," she muttered, shaking her head and attacking his hair. Gilligan surreptitiously snatched his hat back and pushed it into his back pocket.

"But she wants to witness a miracle. How am I gonna make a miracle? I'm only a Gilligan."

"Nonsense," Mrs. Howell chided. "No one's 'only' anything."

"But –."

"Besides, you can't _make_ a miracle, dear. Then it isn't a miracle anymore," Mrs. Howell explained. "Something will come about. Keep your eyes open." Mrs. Howell put the comb down and brushed his bangs back, patting his cheek gently. "Just make sure it means something to you both."

Gilligan eyed her suspiciously for a moment. Then he glanced down at himself. "Hey! What am I all dressed up for?"

Mrs. Howell chuckled at his obliviousness. "Carry this." She handed him a small cluster of white gardenias.

"What's this for?"

"Come on, dear. I'll show you." The older woman took his arm and led him from the hut and into the growing darkness of the evening.


	8. Dance With AM

Mrs. Howell led Gilligan down the path to the clearing where they had constructed the stage for Ginger's performance of _A Pyramid for Two_. They paused just outside the clearing to take in the scene. Mrs. Howell was smiling warmly at the befuddled young man.

Someone had tried to transform the flat from the play into a school gymnasium. A crude basketball hoop and a set of bleachers had been quickly painted over Cleopatra's chambers. There were snacks and the obligatory punch bowl on a table. Benches were placed around the perimeter of the stage, where in real life awkward gangly pre-teens would sit, boys on one side of the gym and girls clear across the room on the other, sneaking glances at each other while pretending to ignore each other. The radio had somehow been pried away from the Skipper and sat on the table playing softly.

Tiki torches surrounded the stage and lanterns hung from nearby tree branches. A large banner hanging across the back of the stage read:

_PENNFIELD MIDDLE SCHOOL EIGHTH GRADE DANCE_

Mary Ann stood in the center of the stage looking thoroughly uncomfortable. She glanced around aimlessly, smoothed down her dress, and took a deep breath. Mary Ann's dark hair was piled high atop her head, a white gardenia peeking out from the brown curls. She had on her best dress, the red one with the little yellow flowers that she saved for parties and other special occasions. It had three-quarter length sleeves and fell to her knees and was very proper and demure, but it fit her like a second skin and Gilligan shook his head to once again dispel the morning's memory.

Gilligan blinked and turned to the woman beside him. "Mrs. Howell, what's going on?"

"You're going to finish your list tonight." Mrs. Howell smiled and fixed his collar lovingly. "Now, stand up straight. Shoulders back. Be a gentleman." Before Gilligan could open his mouth again, she gave him a shove and he stumbled out of the jungle and into the clearing.

Gilligan stood paralyzed for a moment, suddenly feeling very vulnerable out in the light in the big suit jacket without his hat safely anchored to his head. Mary Ann greeted his arrival by freezing as well, holding her breath and waiting for him to compose himself first. "Hi," he finally managed.

"Hi." Gilligan's borrowed tie hung a little too short on his long torso and Mary Ann smiled. "I like your tie."

Gilligan glanced down as if he had forgotten it was there. He smoothed it down self-consciously. "Thanks." Gilligan suddenly seemed to remember the flowers in his hand, noticing for the first time that they were attached to an elastic band. "I guess this is supposed to be for you." He held the corsage up lamely, still at least fifteen feet from the stage.

"Thank you." Mary Ann beamed, but made no move to approach. Gilligan got the hint and began shuffling forward. He stumbled up onto the stage and Mary Ann stuck out her arm.

In the foliage just outside the clearing, Mrs. Howell was still watching, hands clasped below her chin. Mr. Howell appeared at her side and squinted at the scene before them. "Thurston, look! My little boy's second eighth grade dance!"

Mr. Howell sighed as he watched Gilligan drop the corsage and then nearly step on it. He bit back the sarcastic comment that was fighting to escape and put his arm around his wife's back. "Yes, Lovey, it's a very touching moment." Mrs. Howell took the handkerchief from her husband's jacket pocket and dabbed her eyes with it as Gilligan shoved the flowers onto Mary Ann's wrist and then hid his hands safely in his pockets.

Mary Ann smiled at him. "You look handsome."

"Oh. Thanks. You look ... handsome ... too." Gilligan screwed his face up and rubbed the back of his neck. That didn't sound right.

"Thank you. Although ..." Gilligan panicked momentarily as Mary Ann reached around him. She pulled his hat from his back pocket and returned it to his head, folding the brim up a little in the back just the way he liked it. "That's much better."

As soon as his hat was back on his head, Gilligan let out a great sigh of relief and visibly relaxed. "Thanks."

An awkward silence descended on the stage again. Gilligan and Mary Ann fidgeted and glanced around at everything but each other. Gilligan was studying the set, the benches, and mostly the food, but he finally looked up at the banner.

"Mary Ann, what's going on? How do you know where I went to school?"

While Mary Ann was excited about being able to finish his list, she was also scared to death about how he would react. Gilligan was not normally a secretive person. When he told a story about his childhood and his friends, he told it with gusto, including too many details, so many that people wished he'd leave out. So when he chose not to talk about something, to keep it safely tucked away inside, it was significant.

"Gilligan," she began softly and he looked back at her. She looked terrified. "The Skipper told me about A.M. It's Annemarie Martin, isn't it?"

Gilligan's eyes widened and he looked around frantically. "She's not here, is she?"

Mary Ann laughed. "No, Gilligan! No, she's not here." She bit her lip nervously and continued carefully, afraid that he would bolt at any moment. "Skipper told me that she did something – he didn't know what – and Skinny started torturing her and he thought maybe it had something to do with your eighth grade dance story that you told him?" Mary Ann looked up at him uncertainly. "That's all I know. But I wanted to at least try to help you finish your list."

Mary Ann watched him closely. He looked caught, exposed, and a little bit defensive. He pursed his lips, furrowed his brow, and suddenly turned around. Mary Ann was horrified and started after him, but he only went as far as the table. She watched as he picked up his list and a pencil from beside the radio. He sat down on one of the benches and unfolded the paper, reading it carefully.

Mary Ann cautiously approached and sat down beside him. "Did you like her?" she finally asked in a small voice.

Gilligan's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Oh, no! No! Not like that." He shook his head vehemently. "No way." He looked around the set; it actually reminded him of his pathetic middle school gymnasium. "She was nice to me, though. I didn't really know many girls besides Florence, but Annemarie was nice to me. She ran the school paper and she used some of my pictures because I was in the Camera Club."

"You were the President," Mary Ann reminded him, nudging him proudly.

"Yeah, I was." He grinned. "I was supposed to take pictures at the dance, but –," he looked both embarrassed and a little amused at the irony, " – but I left my camera at home."

Mary Ann smiled, but then a thought struck her. "Was she mad at you because you didn't take any pictures?" She found it hard to believe that a young girl had such a volcanic reaction to something so simple that it would affect Gilligan so much.

"No. Probably." He shrugged. "But that's not the story."

"You don't have to tell me the story if you don't want to," Mary Ann said. "Just tell me how we can cross it off your list." Gilligan stared down at the paper intently and she inched closer, gently taking his elbow. "Gilligan. Tell me how to fix it and I'll do it."

"Dance with me, Mary Ann." He looked up and blurted it out so quickly that she leaned back in surprise.

She blinked rapidly. "Wha – I – of course."

But Gilligan didn't get up. He looked back down at his list. "Annemarie said she'd dance with me. Skinny and Florence went to the dance together, so I was kinda by myself, but Annemarie said she'd dance with me – just once, that's all I wanted. So when I got there I went over to say hi to her. She was with her friends and I asked her for my dance and she looked at me like I was crazy." Gilligan busied himself by crossing something out on his list. Mary Ann tried to peek at what he was doing, but couldn't see past his bowed head. Gilligan then began writing something else on the list. "Then she started laughing," he continued and Mary Ann had the sudden overwhelming urge to put _four_ thousand marbles, _three_ live frogs, and a whole pile of ants in Annemarie's locker. "Her friends started laughing. Soon the whole gym was laughing. Even the guy playing the records was laughing. After that, I stayed home. Skinny and Florence went to prom without me. I never asked a girl to dance ever again."

Mary Ann's heart broke. She wanted to gather him into her arms, but she kept gripping the bench. Gilligan suddenly raised his head and looked her straight in the eye. "Mary Ann, will you dance with me?" She stopped breathing momentarily. He watched her evenly, gripping the bench and fighting the urge to look and run away. Mary Ann blinked at him and was finally able to nod. "You didn't do your list wrong," he continued. "I did."

Gilligan held up the edited list. He had crossed out the A in 'A.M.' and moved it to the end of the sentence. _Dance with M.A._ "This is what I want."

Mary Ann nodded again. "Me, too."

Gilligan crossed this final item off the list and turned away to put the paper and pencil down on the bench beside him. By the time he turned back with his hand extended for hers, Mary Ann was gone. She had stood and moved to center stage, where she waited for him. Gilligan followed, stopping about six feet shy of her.

"Gilligan, I can't dance with you if you're all the way over there." She laughed and he glanced down at himself and then around at his immediate surroundings.

He smiled a little. "Yeah. You're right." Gilligan took only two fumbling steps forward and stopped again.

Mary Ann laughed louder. "Come here!" She reached out and grabbed the bottom of his tie and tugged on it, pulling him toward her.

Still just outside the clearing, Mrs. Howell gently leaned into her husband. "Thurston, do you remember how I always wanted to adopt?"

"Of course, Lovey."

"And do you remember how I could never choose?"

"Yes."

"Thurston, look at my babies," the socialite whispered.

They watched as Mary Ann pulled on Gilligan's tie, reeling him in until she reached the knot and slipped her arms around his neck. Gilligan had been expecting a more traditional hold and his arms hovered dumbly in the air until Mary Ann took his elbows and planted his hands on her waist.

Mr. Howell smiled despite himself. "Excellent choices, my dear." He bent and kissed his wife on the cheek. "Come along, Lovey. I may not be able to take it with me when I go, but I can take you with me now. Don't be nosey." He gently took her hand and they returned to camp together.

"Gilligan, what's the matter?" Mary Ann had replaced her arms around his neck and was peering up at his face.

"I don't know how to dance." Gilligan was concentrating so hard on the task at hand that he was starting to break out in a cold sweat and forgetting to breathe.

"That's okay."

"I'm gonna step on your feet."

"I don't care."

"You will when you see how much it hurts."

"Gilligan, it's fine. Just relax. _Ow!_" Mary Ann grimaced as he stepped on her foot and he started to back up, but she pulled him back and grinned up at him. "Didn't feel a thing. You don't even have to pick up your feet to dance. Listen to the music. Just sway."

Gilligan concentrated and listened to the lyrical music sweeping from the radio. It was much easier to dance when he didn't have to think about what his feet were doing and at the end of five minutes he had only stepped on her foot once as they swayed, slightly out-of-sync with each other. He also realized with a certain amount of terror that this was a much more intimate way of dancing; Instead of formal predetermined dance, all he had to do was stand there and hold her.

"Well, Mr. Gilligan," Mary Ann broke the silence first. "I understand congratulations are in order."

"For what?"

"For finishing your list."

"Oh, yeah." Gilligan frowned and looked away, squinting thoughtfully into the distance.

"'_Thank you, Mary Ann,'_" she prompted, ducking her head to peer up under his furrowed brow.

"You're welcome," he muttered distractedly and she laughed.

"Gilligan! What's wrong now?"

"I was just thinking how unfair it is. We did everything on my list, but only one thing on yours. You didn't get to witness a miracle or experience true love."

"For the record, I didn't put _Experience true love_ on my list."

"But you want to," he interrupted and she ignored him.

"Gilligan, I loved helping you with your list. And, besides, we already decided that the things on mine are impossible."

"No, they're not. We flew." Gilligan stared down at her, concerned that she apparently still hadn't grasped the significance.

Mary Ann pulled her arms back over his shoulders and slid her hands up his neck until they cradled his cheeks. "And it was magnificent," she told him sincerely. "Thank you."

"What about _Hold hands with a boy_?" he persisted and she groaned in mock frustration.

"I was just teasing you! But I should've known you'd remember that. You always forget the things we need you to remember and remember the things we'd rather you forgot."

"Mary Ann, you're sounding like me again."

"That's not the worst thing in the world, Gilligan." She replaced her arms around his neck and stepped even closer to him so she could lay her head on his chest. As surprised and uncomfortable as Gilligan was, he had to admit that it made him an even better dancer as they now swayed as one and were no longer out-of-sync. His hands were getting sweaty on her waist and he wiped his palms on his jeans. He hesitated for a moment and then wrapped his arms around her back. Mary Ann closed her eyes and smiled against his jacket and Gilligan thought he heard her sigh.

The music suddenly stopped and the familiar voice of Friendly Henry filled the clearing, interrupting the program for an important news bulletin. Operation Powder Keg was officially scheduled for the following afternoon, he explained. The test missile was set to be fired into a remote region in the South Pacific, he reiterated, an area where they were sure there were no inhabitants.

Gilligan and Mary Ann had frozen and now stood perfectly still in the center of the stage, listening. They held their breath and bit their tongues until Friendly Henry returned them to their regularly scheduled evening program of clichéd ballads and embarrassing love songs.

After a minute, Mary Ann sighed again, sadly this time. "Tomorrow," she whispered.

"Yeah." Gilligan's arms tightened instinctively around her. "Mary Ann, do you believe in ghosts?"

Mary Ann found it hard to believe that he was still thinking about their ghost stories about ninjas and caterpillars and dead cannibal chiefs. "Are you trying to ask me what I think will happen to us ... after?" She didn't look up, but she felt him nod. "Well. I believe in Heaven and I believe that we'll all still be together somehow – with my parents and your grandma."

"And my dog Barnaby?"

Mary Ann smiled. "I hope so."

"Me, too."

"But I also believe that spirits can visit us," she said, almost embarrassed by this admission, and Gilligan glanced around quickly, suddenly paranoid that his grandmother or Mary Ann's father were there somewhere watching them with narrowed eyes or a ghostly shotgun. "I used to smell my mother's perfume," Mary Ann continued. "After she died. Aunt Martha was allergic to it, so I couldn't bring it with me when I moved in with them, but sometimes ... sometimes it would pass me in the hallway. Does that sound crazy?"

Gilligan shook his head. "It sounds nice, Mary Ann," he said and then laughed as a thought struck him. "I could haunt people."

"You would."

"I'd haunt Fatso Flanagan and move his stuff around and open doors and call his name real quiet like this: '_Faaaatsooooooo!_'" he howled with a low ghoulish moan and Mary Ann stifled her laughter in his jacket. Only Gilligan could make a discussion about their imminent death entertaining. "I'd haunt Horace Higgenbotham, too," he suddenly decided.

Mary Ann stopped laughing and lifted her head so she could look up at him. "Why?"

Gilligan shrugged. "It'd be fun. You said he could be annoying, right?"

"Okay, in that case I'll haunt Annemarie Martin. Deal?"

Gilligan nodded once, decisively. "Deal." He was quiet for a moment as he looked off into the jungle. Slowly a smile began to spread across his face.

"What, Gilligan?"

By this time he was absolutely beaming. "I can go to Skinny and Florence's wedding! We wouldn't be trapped on the island anymore and I'd get to go. And I'd let him know I was there somehow, just like your mom did." Gilligan looked completely thrilled and Mary Ann bit her lip to keep herself from bursting into tears. "I know, I'll leave his favorite marble in his tux pocket. He gave me his great big sulphide shooter when we were kids. It's clear and has a little statue of a guy inside. It was his favorite and he gave it to me. I have it with me here on the island, but I'd give it back to him so he'd know I was there." Mary Ann lowered her head and took a deep shaky breath. "And you could come with me!" he exclaimed. "And we could dance and it wouldn't even hurt if I stepped on your feet!" he continued and Mary Ann squeezed her eyes shut and let her forehead drop against his chest. "Because ghosts float, right?"

Mary Ann nodded and laid her cheek back down on his chest so he wouldn't see her crying. But she was betrayed when she finally found her voice, barely forcing out, "They fly."


	9. Witness A Miracle

"Is this your handiwork?"

The Professor looked up at the voice. He had the broken mirror spread out on the table in front of him, studying it with a rare air of defeat. Ginger was standing behind him, one hand on her hip. A statue, about a foot tall and carved from solid wood, was balanced on her other palm.

It looked like an Academy Award.

"Partly," he replied distractedly, gaze drifting back to the shattered mirror.

Ginger sat down beside him. "Staring at it isn't going to fix anything."

The Professor sighed. "I know. But there has to be something else I haven't thought of. If I could just calculate the –"

"Professor! Professor..." Ginger laid her hand on his arm to stop his wild gesturing. He calmed under her touch and turned to her. She was smiling sadly. "This is it."

He sighed again and rubbed his hands over his face. "I know."

Ginger placed the statue on the table, centering it on one of the small jagged mirror pieces. Its reflection appeared across the honeycomb of shards, spreading across the table like a kaleidoscope and glinting in the sun. "Talk to me about this instead."

"Gilligan and Mary Ann were trying to figure out what everyone else would have on their lists. They thought you'd want to win an Academy Award, so Gilligan started carving this for you. I told him to add this part." The Professor pointed to the front of the carving. The Oscar statue held a sword, as usual, but there was something else carved around the blade.

Ginger squinted at it, her nose wrinkling in confusion. "What is that? Is that a snake?"

"The Rod of Asclepius. Symbol of medical organizations around the world."

Ginger eyed him suspiciously. "Are you trying to rub it in that I didn't become a nurse?"

The Professor grinned at her, unusually proud of himself. "Not at all. Ginger, I'm sure you understand why people love the arts. Why do they spend money they don't have to go to the theatre? Why do they sit through the same inane movie twelve times?"

"Because they want to be entertained."

"Because it_ heals them_," he continued emphatically and Ginger lowered her eyes to the table, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "They laugh, they cry, they escape. They relate. They leave feeling better or understanding something about themselves. All actors and their characters are doctors and psychiatrists. Usually most of them need psychiatrists," he added as an afterthought and Ginger laughed briefly. "Lady Macbeth, Blanche DuBois, Ophelia, Emily Webb ... even the hula girl from _The Hula Girl and the Fullback_." Ginger frowned, unconvinced that such a stupid movie could have these powers. "They're all nurses," he continued. "They all heal people. _You_ heal people. Ginger, look at the inscription."

Ginger peered at the base of the statue.

_Ginger Grant  
><em>_Best Actress  
><em>_Cor Curat_

"What does that mean?" she whispered.

"It's Latin. It means 'heals with heart.' Ginger, I have a degree in psychology, I understand how acting works on the most fundamental level." The Professor turned to face her directly. "You dig down deep in your soul, you pull out your heart and you show it to the audience and you hope that one of them, just one person who's watching you, will understand and be moved and be healed."

Ginger raised her eyes to his and smiled. He understood. "That's all I ever wanted."

The Professor picked up the wooden Oscar and presented it to the actress. "Then you won."

# # # #

"I'm sorry I broke the mirror." Gilligan stood uneasily in the girls' section of the hut. He was wringing his hat in his hands, his eyes pleading with Mary Ann not to be mad at him.

"It's okay," she sighed.

"No, it's not."

Gilligan wasn't the least bit surprised to find Mary Ann sitting alone in the hut after his spectacular swing through the mirror, especially after the events of last night. After he exclaimed that he would actually be able to attend Skinny and Florence's wedding in the afterlife, he noticed with horror that the same realization that had made him so thrilled had made Mary Ann equally devastated. He panicked as she cried into his chest and he held her awkwardly and stroked her hair and babbled about how being able to go to the wedding was a good thing and that meant they'd still be able to see everyone they loved and they couldn't do that trapped on the island.

Gilligan was trying to look on the bright side of the inevitable, but Mary Ann was focusing on the missed opportunities, the life she'd never lead, which was understandable considering her life had a tendency to change abruptly before she was finished with the current episode. So they stood at center stage and he held her as she clung to him and cried for the first time since they first heard the news on the radio until Gilligan made a comment about Mr. Howell not being too happy about his soaked silk tie and she laughed.

A little after midnight, Gilligan took her home, where Ginger was waiting to pounce like a gossip-hungry lion, then returned the radio to the Skipper, who had taken to pacing restlessly and concocting his own catastrophic news broadcasts in its absence, and then went to the Howells to return the borrowed clothing. They were still up and Mr. Howell took the jacket and tie and nodded his thanks, but didn't comment on their damp sorry state.

"Gilligan, it's not your fault." Mary Ann stood and approached him. Her eyes were large and sad. She had lost her sparkle, the positive attitude that kept her moving and distracted for the past two days. She was giving up and it worried him. "If the pilots didn't see the reflection from the pieces, they wouldn't have seen the reflection from the whole mirror. It's just too cloudy."

"Come with me. I want to show you something." Gilligan pulled his hat back on and turned to the door, expecting her to follow.

"Now?"

Gilligan turned back to face her. "We're kind of on a tight schedule," he replied. He saw her wince and he softened, walking back to meet her in the middle of the hut. "I have to show you something. It's a miracle," he explained sincerely, but Mary Ann didn't look convinced.

"Let me guess. The Skipper didn't finish his lunch?"

"No," he shot back, but then smirked. "Well ... yes, but that's not the miracle."

"The missile landed, but it didn't explode?"

"Just come with me."

"Gilligan, there's no point in trying to finish my list now. If you don't mind, I'd rather just stay here." Mary Ann sat down on the edge of her bed again.

Gilligan stared at her incredulously. He glanced around, not sure what he was looking for – maybe a sign that she was teasing him somehow. He watched her stare down at her lap, idly picking at her nails, and he knelt down in front of her to look her in the eye. "I do mind. Mary Ann, this isn't like you." Gilligan took hold of the makeshift mattress on either side of her and her knees dug into his chest as he leaned forward so he could peer up under the brim of her hat – the cute straw one with the ironically perky flowers. "You don't sit around being sad. You live your life and you go on adventures with me and you fly! I don't want the last thing you see to be this sorry looking hut. I have something amazing to show you. Don't you trust me?"

Mary Ann looked up at him. He was staring her straight in the eye again, daring her not to go with him. "Mary Ann, this is the only diem we've got left, so you better carp it." She finally smiled and he knew he had her. Gilligan grinned and stood, holding his hand out help her up. Mary Ann glanced back down at the ground for a moment and then grabbed the edge of the bed to push herself to her feet.

# # # #

"It's so quiet," Mary Ann whispered.

She was standing close by Gilligan's elbow in the clearing by the banyan tree. The tree was huge, bigger than any other on the island. Its primordial branches swung out in all directions. Vines and other plants had grown into its canopy and hung toward the ground all around the periphery of the tree, creating the perfect hiding place within these living walls.

On warm sunny days, Mary Ann spent hours hanging the washing on it's branches and daydreaming. Birds loved nesting inside the tree and they flew around the top of the cavern singing happily. It made Mary Ann feel like Cinderella and she always half expected the birds to swoop down and pick up a piece of laundry with their tiny feet and help her lay it out to dry.

In the sun, the tree glinted like the magical Tree of Life in an enchanted forest. But when it was cloudy, like today, it looked like a crazy old hag bent over with her scraggly hair brushing the ground. An eerie silence had fallen over the entire island that morning. There were no birds squawking in the trees, no monkeys chattering in the jungle. Mary Ann stepped closer to Gilligan, the ominous atmosphere pressing heavily over the clearing.

"The animals know," Gilligan replied quietly. "They know something's coming, so they're hiding."

"They do that before tornados, too." Mary Ann glanced around the clearing warily and then up into the sky. Nothing. "Is this what you wanted to show me? It's not a miracle, it's instinct. And it's scary."

"No, this isn't it. We're early. Just wait."

"What am I waiting for?"

"Watch the tree. You'll see it."

Gilligan and Mary Ann waited in silence. There were no signs of life anywhere. No animals. No running water. No breeze. The silence emanating from the jungle was so loud it was almost deafening, causing a ringing in her ears not unlike the one in her nightmare. Mary Ann inched closer still until her cheek brushed Gilligan's shoulder and she took his arm in both hands. "Gilligan, I don't like this," she whispered, fear creeping into the edge of her voice.

"One more minute." Gilligan peered at the tree carefully, squinting at the leaves. Suddenly he saw movement. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened. "Look!" His arm flew out in front of him to point into the foliage.

Mary Ann jumped and gripped his arm. "What? What happened?"

Gilligan hurried toward the tree, Mary Ann scurrying to keep up with him as she clung to his arm. He stopped eyelevel with some sort of nest that was suspended from a low-hanging branch. It was a light gold color and as they watched it twitched sporadically.

"Come on. It's time." Gilligan ducked under the branch and pulled Mary Ann through the vine curtain behind him. Under the tree, thick branches scooped around them, arching toward the ground and up into the air creating the perfect living cave where they were completely cut off from the outside world. The grass grew thick and unobstructed here and the sun was just beginning to emerge from behind the clouds, only thin glowing shafts reaching the ground through the leafy roof, penetrating the air like sharply focused spotlights.

Mary Ann looked up. Hundreds more of these nests hung from the branches all around them, as far up into the tree as she could see and as far down as mere inches from the ground, protected from the wind and the rain beneath the tree's natural umbrella. Some of them were twitching, even though there was no breeze, and it reminded Mary Ann of a bad science fiction movie that Ginger was once in.

"Gilligan, what's –." The rest of the sentence caught in Mary Ann's throat and she gasped and squeezed Gilligan's arm as she stared at the twitching pod nearest her. It split open and the most beautiful red butterfly was pushing itself out into the world, its colors immediately lightening the dreary atmosphere. The delicate creature perched on the remains of its shell and spread its wings, strengthening and expanding them in the air.

All around them, butterflies began emerging. Reds, purples, blues, and oranges suddenly appeared inside the dim canopy and lit it with their vibrancy. The butterflies perched on their shells and flexed their wings, colors appearing and disappearing like twinkling Christmas lights.

As these butterflies eventually gained strength and began to take flight, others were emerging from their chrysalides. The stronger butterflies tested their wings, fluttering around them, as the newly emerged insects stretched out on their branches.

Mary Ann's eyes widened and she let go of Gilligan's arm, wandering forward into the swirling mass of butterflies. Mary Ann held out her hands and three butterflies immediately landed on her palms and she giggled as their tiny feet tickled her skin. She glanced up at Gilligan whose face twisted as he tried to peer up at the butterfly that had landed on the brim of his hat without tilting his head too far and knocking it off.

"How did you know this was happening?"

"I found them yesterday and the Professor figured out how long it would be before they would come out. He said he never saw this many at once before. He said it was 'nearly impossible.' That sounded like a miracle to me." Gilligan grinned down at his outstretched arm, where a line of butterflies was perched. "I think it's because they know something's coming. They had to be ready to fly away. Instinct, I guess." He shrugged and a dozen butterflies took off from his arms and shoulders.

Mary Ann was gazing around her in awe. More creatures continued to emerge, blooming around them like vivid cartoon flowers. She tilted her head back, holding her hat in place, and watched the hundreds of delicate insects flutter and swirl over them. "It's gorgeous," she breathed and Gilligan heard the smile return to her voice.

"Mrs. Howell said something meaningful would turn up. And ... and I know how much we like to go butterfly hunting together," Gilligan murmured awkwardly.

Mary Ann beamed at him, eyes shining, and returned to his side to take his arm again. "It's perfect."

Gilligan grinned sheepishly and lifted his head to look up into the churning swarm of color. He tilted his head all the way back, his hat somehow staying firmly in place, and sighed with an appreciation for nature that never ceased to amaze Mary Ann.

A tiny red and white butterfly landed lightly on his nose and Mary Ann laughed. Gilligan smiled and nearly went cross-eyed trying to see it clearly. He kept perfectly still as it perched there, quite content to make herself at home on his nose.

After a moment, Gilligan's brow furrowed and Mary Ann heard him start to whisper. "You guys better get out of here," he advised the insect and the smile slid off of Mary Ann's face. The butterfly turned to face him and her antennae stilled. She seemed to be hanging on his every word. "A great big missile's coming and I don't want you to get caught, too." Mary Ann's heart ached as she listened to him speak so sincerely to the beautiful little creature, urging her to escape sharing their same fate.

"You have wings," Gilligan continued. "Use them."

Mary Ann slipped her hand down his arm and tentatively slid her palm over his.

"_Fly!_" he insisted and Mary Ann quickly laced her fingers through his as the butterfly rose and disappeared into the throng.

Gilligan stared up into the tree for another moment. Mary Ann felt his fingers twitch and then curl around her hand, squeezing it gently. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

Gilligan and Mary Ann stood watching the newborn butterflies cavort around them, learning to use their wings and delighting in their newfound freedom. The light rustling of nearly a thousand delicate wings was the only thing audible in the otherwise pressing silence. The sunlight shining through the leaves was becoming stronger, dust and other particles in the air shining in the shafts of light, bursts of color glinting as they flew past.

Gilligan suddenly gasped and turned to Mary Ann, wide eyed, and she peered up at him curiously. "Mary Ann, we're really gonna die!" he blurted. He had said it before and they both knew what was coming, but it just hit him – _for real_ – that he would never experience anything as wonderful as this moment ever again.

She nodded shakily. "I know."

"_Today!_"

"I know." Her voice cracked.

Gilligan didn't know what to do. He had just managed to cheer her up and now they both looked terrified and that was the last thing he wanted. He glanced toward the sky, but couldn't see past the hundreds of butterflies fluttering amongst the banyan cave's thick leafy roof. Mary Ann was looking up at him, waiting for him to do something.

He thought about the missile on its way to their island and how no one knew they were there.

He thought about his family and his friends who probably already thought he was dead.

He thought about his new castaway family, how they lived and now died together.

He thought about the hundreds of newborn butterflies who could fly away and escape.

He thought about their lists and all the things they had accomplished in the past two days and the one thing they hadn't.

He thought about Skinny Mulligan and Florence Oppenheimer and their true love.

He thought about the girl standing in front of him holding his hand for no reason.

Finally, he decided what to do. Fueled by all of these thoughts and encouraged by Skinny Mulligan's one moment of bravery and the idea that he could potentially cross the final unwritten item off both of their lists, he dipped his head and he kissed her.

Perhaps a little too abruptly and she gasped in surprise so he pulled back a bit. A few uncertain moments passed as they stood a hair's breadth apart, eyes closed, noses touching, lips brushing light as butterfly wings, until Mary Ann squeezed his hand.

Gilligan instantly began to feel strange. A warmth slowly spread through his body as they kissed and he knew his ears were turning red. Even his toes felt funny. Mary Ann stepped up close to him and tilted her head, rising up onto her toes. She slid her free hand up to his shoulder and he slid his around her waist. The tingling began again in his fingertips and traveled up his arms just as it crept up from his toes and soon engulfed his entire body.

The kiss was slow and gentle and was lasting far longer than Gilligan had anticipated. He felt Mary Ann's hand on his jaw and then gripping the collar of his shirt, the fingers of her other hand tightly entwined with his. Butterflies fluttered around them, briefly alighting on their heads and shoulders, sharing their magic, blessing them, saying goodbye, before returning to the colorful swirling cloud.

Gilligan had no coherent thoughts left in his head. He didn't even have to think about breathing as instinct kicked in. His knees felt wobbly. He felt like the butterflies were holding him up, the fluttering of their wings echoing the flurry in his stomach. Mary Ann leaned further into him and he heard her sigh quietly.

The butterflies gradually began to discover the tiny openings in the canopy and cautiously ventured into the now brightly lit sky beyond the tree. The little creatures swept past Gilligan and Mary Ann on their way to these doorways, brushing their hands and arms, giving them strength and taking a piece of their souls with them as they surged from the tree and into the heavens.

When the last butterfly was gone from inside the tree, the kiss ended at last and they pulled back just far enough to see one another. Mary Ann blinked, long lashes fluttering rapidly, as she stared up at him in astonishment, exhilaration, and breathlessness, her heart pounding and upper body pulsing against his chest as she tried to catch her breath, one hand still gripping his collar, the fingers of the other still tangled with his.

Gilligan gazed down at her in utter bafflement, each blink bringing his glazed blue eyes further back into focus. His fingers flexed against her back and a lopsided grin slowly spread over his face.

"Ow."


	10. Skinny Mulligan, Boy Genius

_"Hands-on-hat," just for you, Teobi. :) At only 1.5 seconds long, it still makes it into the list of Top 5 Cutest Moments of the series.  
>Just the Epilogue left and we're done.<em>

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><p>Skinny Mulligan was never right about anything.<p>

He thought the sun revolved around the Earth and that Caesar was the guy who invented salad.

But once in a while, he was right about something.

Gilligan was still pondering the miracle (_miracles?_) that afternoon as the castaways gathered around the radio. Friendly Henry was cheerfully updating them on the missile launch, interviewing some General about something that none of them except the Professor understood, but Gilligan wasn't paying attention.

He didn't want to die. He never really did, but he had been able to look on the weak bright side of the situation. Now, however, he kinda wanted to stay put.

He couldn't eloquently articulate how he felt, but he suddenly wasn't okay with being a ghost, no longer amused by the concept of scaring the living daylights out of Fatso Flanagan, willing to give up going to Skinny and Florence's wedding.

He realized that it doesn't hurt when ghosts step on each other's feet while dancing because ghosts _don't feel_. They cruise through walls and pass right through humans when they try to reach out to them, leaving the living confused and shivering in their wake.

He wanted more miracles.

He couldn't articulate it any further than "ow," which was what he said to the Skipper when the captain questioned the stupid look on his face when he and Mary Ann met him on the trail on their way back to camp.

But the Skipper didn't have time to listen to one of Gilligan's circular conversations. He had come looking for them. It was time. He ushered them back to the beach where the others were gathered around the radio and tried to fill them in on everything they'd missed, which wasn't much, but the Skipper felt like relaying the information kept him centered and in control.

The Skipper sat down in the sand as close to the radio as possible. He couldn't act resigned to the inevitable. He knew it was ridiculous, but he still felt like he had to keep up the façade. He felt Ginger take his arm as she crouched beside him and resolved to be the strong leader she and the others expected him to be.

Ginger listened to Friendly Henry babble away happily on the radio, utterly enthralled by the situation. He asked the Generals too many questions and they faintly veiled the annoyance in their voices as they tried to go about their business while still being cordial to the media. They weren't very good actors.

Ginger looked up at the Professor, who was scanning the sky calmly. He looked like he was waiting for an afternoon bus and she wished he would say something, some encouraging words or pearls of inspiration, but that wasn't his style. He couldn't talk to them about souls and the afterlife and he had pointedly ignored Gilligan's comment about wanting to be reincarnated as an alien-fighting astronaut cowboy. The Professor had given them the cold hard facts and deemed them fully prepared.

Mrs. Howell sat beside her husband on a rock behind the others, her arm linked through his. Mr. Howell was uncharacteristically quiet. The latest version of his will should be safely out to sea by now and he had painstakingly parceled out _everything_. He made sure that his nieces and nephews – the little ones who he knew didn't try to steal his assets as soon as he was lost as sea – were well taken care of. His wife's favorite charities would never want for anything again. Adopted or not, all of her orphans would live comfortably and go to college. Reassured that all of her babies were either well provided for or here with her, Mrs. Howell smiled peacefully and patted her husband's hand, more proud of him than she'd ever been.

Mr. Howell knew that he couldn't take it with him. Everything he had taken with him on the Minnow would be lost. Everything. Although if given the choice he'd much rather prefer to go it alone, to take nothing with him, to spare his beloved wife his same fate, at the moment he was very grateful that she was sitting beside him holding his arm.

Mary Ann sat in the sand close by Gilligan's side. She listened to Friendly Henry describe the mechanics of the missile on the radio and felt an eerie sense of calm overcome her. She was still terrified and she still didn't want to die, but she felt more complete somehow.

Her list was done. Gilligan had somehow managed to make her greatest dreams come true.

Friendly Henry suddenly stopped his narration. There was a second of silence that seemed to stretch on forever as he was given an update and the castaways held their breath.

"And the countdown has already begun on Operation Powder Keg!" he continued joyfully, startling the castaways after the tense silence. "Five."

Mrs. Howell tightened her arm around her husband's and he grabbed her hand.

"Four."

Ginger gripped the Skipper's arm, wide eyes transfixed on the radio.

"Three."

The Skipper stared blankly out over the beach and into the lagoon. He never felt so useless in his whole life.

"Two."

The Professor calmly surveyed the sky, waiting for the first glimpse.

"One!"

Friendly Henry was way too excited about this.

"Zero!"

Mary Ann dropped her head to Gilligan's knee. In the terrifying silence that followed, she suddenly felt the gentle pressure of his hands on her head – tender, comforting, protecting. It was a simple gesture, light as a feather, but she felt it as acutely as if his hands weighed twenty pounds and it nearly made her heart burst.

"It's a perfect shot!"

"It would be," Mr. Howell drawled sardonically.

Mary Ann squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her forehead into Gilligan's jeans. She pushed the thoughts of fire and destruction and the acrid stink of devastation out of her mind, trying to replace them with thoughts of her family, her friends, her new family and friends on the island, flying, camping, her miracle.

Earlier that day, alone under the banyan tree with all of the butterflies gone, Gilligan whispered "ow" and Mary Ann blushed furiously, lowering her eyes to stare at his shirt buttons.

They were both quiet for a long time. They were too embarrassed to keep standing there pressed up against each other, tingly and breathless, but they couldn't move either.

Mary Ann chanced a glance back up at Gilligan's face. He was still looking down at her like he'd never seen her before and it was unnerving. She slowly untangled her left hand from his collar. She didn't realize she'd been gripping it so hard and her fingers ached as she smoothed down the rumpled fabric. Mary Ann suddenly smirked, remembering Florence's reaction to Skinny's "ow" before she knew what it meant.

"Should I punch you in the gut?" she teased.

Gilligan's brow furrowed and his mouth tipped into an odd mixture of a grin and a wince. "I think you just did."

Skinny Mulligan was never right about anything.

But when Skinny Mulligan was right about something, _boy was he right._


	11. Marbles and Rainbows

_Thanks so much for all the encouragement and fantastic reviews, guys! This was my first "epic" story and it was a little bit scary at times. I'm sad it's over, but now I need a new idea!_

_This chapter is for callensensei, who apparently yells at the camera to pan left every time the missile shoots into the lagoon so we can see Mary Ann's reaction. (It is irritating that she's the only one not in the frame for that shot, though. How hard would it have been to zoom out a little?). I hope I made her reaction here big enough for you. :)_

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><p>Mary Ann stood on the beach staring out into the lagoon.<p>

She didn't know how he did it, but he had done it again.

It happened almost exactly how he had dreamt it.

The missile landed, but didn't explode. The Professor announced that one of them – the "one of us small enough and thin enough" – had to crawl inside and disarm the explosive. Gilligan immediately blanched and gulped loudly and didn't give anyone else a chance to point out that she was actually smaller than him.

When the rocket suddenly ignited with Gilligan still inside, the Professor hung onto the side of the missile and tried to pull him out, but it was too fast for him and took off into the jungle. The castaways yelled after it, cries drowned out under the roar of the rockets. A second later the missile returned and shot past them into the lagoon.

The Skipper stared after it in horror. "He didn't even have a chance to get out!"

They were too stunned to move. As quickly as the missile had appeared and threatened to take them all, it had disappeared with Gilligan.

Mary Ann suddenly bolted after it, but the Professor caught her around the waist and held her back. She pulled at his hands in vain, legs still moving, reaching out in front of her. She fought with him until the plume of smoke disappeared around the bend of the lagoon and she collapsed in his arms, breathless with disbelief and horror.

The castaways watched the lagoon for a long time, stunned into silence. The Professor kept a firm grip on Mary Ann, afraid that she'd either take off after it again or have a complete breakdown. When she did neither, rendered immobile by heartbreak and astonishment, the Professor moved to comfort Ginger, who had begun to cry quietly.

The movie star was clinging to the Skipper's arm, but he was of no use to anyone as he stood in shocked silence, unaware that she was even there. Finally hearing Ginger whimper, the Skipper swallowed hard to push back his own tears.

"My little buddy," he whispered, rubbing his hand over his aching chest.

Mr. Howell laid a sympathetic hand on his back. "Come along, captain." He began leading the distraught man up the path behind the Professor and Ginger. They soon disappeared into the foliage, beginning the slow and torturous walk back to camp in dazed silence.

Mary Ann wandered a few steps closer to the edge of the lagoon and suddenly stepped on something hard. She glanced down at the sand and there, directly in front of her, was the big sulphide shooter that Skinny Mulligan gave Gilligan when they were kids. Clear with the little statue of a guy inside. Gilligan had put the marble in his pocket that morning so he'd have it with him to give back to Skinny.

Mary Ann bent and picked up the marble, gently brushing the sand away. She knew that it must have fallen out of the hole perpetually present in the bottom of Gilligan's pocket – she had mended it four times since the shipwreck and it kept growing back – but she liked to think of it as a sign.

Mary Ann finally noticed that Mrs. Howell was still standing on the beach about twenty feet away. She shielded her eyes with one diamond-encrusted hand, carefully scanning the sky for something.

"What are you looking for?" Mary Ann asked, voice low and crowded with the threat of tears.

Mrs. Howell gave her a quick smile before returning her gaze to the sky. "A rainbow." Mary Ann looked up. Clear and blue and perfect as always, not a cloud in sight. Mrs. Howell appeared at her side and peered at the marble. "Did you get your miracle, dear?" Mary Ann nodded. "Good. Come along, darling. Let's go home."

When the two women reached the clearing, the other grief-stricken castaways were gathered around the table. Mrs. Howell guided Mary Ann to a seat next to Ginger and then sat down beside her husband on the opposite side of the table. The Professor was shaking his head. "It's all my fault. I should have tried to disarm the missile myself. I knew what to do. I could have tried to fit in there."

"I'm smaller than he is," Mary Ann whispered, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. The Professor lowered his head, but the others shifted uncomfortably and pretended they hadn't heard her, except Ginger, who let out a particularly plaintive sob and squeezed her roommate's hand.

"Thurston," Mrs. Howell began hesitantly after a moment, "I think we ought to rename the house in South Hampton 'Gilligan's Acres.'"

"I was going to have a Gilligan scholarship at Harvard."

"The next boat I get – I'm gonna call her _The Gilligan_."

Having composed herself, Ginger sniffed daintily into her handkerchief. "When I get back to Hollywood, I'm going to sell his story to the movies."

Mary Ann finally burst into tears and everyone else stared down at the table. Mrs. Howell leaned against her husband's shoulder. The Professor was still shaking his head. The Skipper rubbed his hands over his face.

"Gee, it all sounds so wonderful, I think I'll go back and drown myself!"

Six heads snapped up at the voice, hearts stopping briefly in shock, disbelief, hope. Gilligan was standing by the hut, soaked to the bone and grinning widely. He tipped his soggy sailor's cap at them. "Gilligan!" they shrieked and leapt from the table. His eyes widened and he braced himself for the stampede headed his direction.

The Professor reached him first and tackled him with a strength Gilligan didn't know the man possessed. The Skipper was on his other side, pulling him into his massive arms. Ginger had his face in her hands and was planting kisses all over his cheek. Gilligan couldn't breathe and he let out a strangled laugh as he was momentarily blinded by Mrs. Howell's diamonds as she bore down on him next.

"Oh! You're all wet!" Mrs. Howell exclaimed, seeming surprised, as she patted his cheek and her husband shook his hand so hard that Gilligan thought he would rip his arm off.

Mary Ann finally fought her way through the throng and launched herself into his arms, her hat flying off onto the sand behind him. Gilligan staggered back, but the Skipper and the Professor caught him and held him upright. Mary Ann hooked her arms over his shoulders and clutched at his back, her feet hanging at least a foot off the ground. He was soaking wet and she felt her shirt begin to stick to her as it absorbed the water from his rugby shirt.

Gilligan grinned at the others over her shoulder. "Hi, guys!"

They instantly began pummeling him with questions all at once and his mind spun trying to keep up. _Oh, Gilligan! What happened? How did you get out? It didn't explode! What was going on? How far did you swim? What was it like?_

Gilligan was still grinning, still holding Mary Ann up off the ground as she clung to him, her nails digging into his back. The others were gripping his arms tightly, faces pictures of relief, worry, and curiosity. "It was actually kinda fun," he admitted sheepishly. Gilligan turned to peer over at Mary Ann, but all he saw was a thick mass of brunette waves on his right shoulder. "It was kinda like flying."

**THE END**


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